Butterflies
by CBot
Summary: "...The one person that had always seemed so transparent was now frighteningly opaque..." Hermione returns to Hogwarts to take her NEWTS. AU  in that Snape doesn't die and ignores the epilogue , otherwise sticks to canon.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: If anyone reads this, I will be shocked, amazed, and flattered. This is the first piece of fan fiction I've ever shared. I am putting it up here because a) I love constructive criticism and feedback (I have not been in a formal writing class in years and I miss it), and b) deep down, I hope someone will like this story as much as I have loved the beautiful stories I have found on this site.

If anyone actually enjoys this, please note that this is a work in progress (to date I'm only on chapter 2), but I CAN guarantee updates. Check my profile page for any delays. And if you review, you will make my YEAR!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter One

You return to school that September with more than the anticipation that a new school year brings. Though part of you is excited to be going back and grateful to be returning at all, another part is sick with worry, regret, guilt, fear, and butterflies.

For after the war, suddenly, you were feeling things, more things, and more deeply than you did before.

Maybe it is the bodies, the ones you see in your sleep: your teacher Lupin, his wife Tonks, laying peacefully beside one another as if they are jus t sleeping; your boyfriend Ron's brother Fred, sprawled across the ground while his brother Percy cradles the unresponsive body in his arms; the students, especially the young ones, too young to have seen death, let alone be dead, laying lifelessly amongst the ruins of Hogwarts.

Maybe it is the survivors: Lupin & Tonks' baby, Teddy, smiling in his grandmother's arms, unaware that he will never see his parents again; Fred's twin brother George, mourning quietly, holding his mother, missing a piece of himself.

But really, although all these images haunt you, there is one that stays with you, one that frequents your dreams more than all the others.

That dark, desolate room in the Shrieking Shack. The coppery smell of blood, thick in the air, filling your nostrils, your mouth; you can almost taste it on your tongue, you want to gag. But you cannot, for the man lying there, bleeding to death, is reaching out to you, to your friends. His memories are pouring out of his ears, his eyes, his nose, he is white, so white, so sickly. His black eyes are focused on Harry's, he does not look at you, but he needs you, needs something from you. As the memories flow from him, he begs Harry to take them, and you do what you have always done best: think quickly. You conjure a vial, you preserve the memories, but you aren't looking at them. You are looking at the man who has given them up; a traitor, you've been told. He killed his mentor, the one person who believed in him. You don't know what to think, though, you never did. Nothing seems to add up, nothing seems right.

"Look… at… me…" The dying man begs your friend for one last thing, and you feel your cheeks grow wet with tears you didn't realize were forming, for suddenly you do not want this man to die. No matter how much distress and suffering he has caused you, your friends, your family, you know that this is no way for him to go.

But with your hand tightly clasping the vial of his memories, your heart beating painfully in your chest, and your eyes shedding tears for the cold man you cannot say you truly knew, you watch Severus Snape die.

Or so you thought.

He was dead when you left the room. You truly, genuinely, believed he was dead. If you didn't, you wouldn't have left. Yes there was a battle to be fought, and yes his loyalties were in question, but you know you could never have left anyone in that state, not if there was any chance they would live.

There was no breath passing through him. The blood spurting out of his neck in thick globs was finally stopping; it seemed all of the blood in his entire body was on that floor. You saw it. You were positive. He could not be alive, there was no way.

But he was.

But that was not what they thought, at first. After the battle, when you were with Ron, comforting him, holding him, crying, relieved that it was over, mourning his loss, all the losses, the Aurors took a statement from Harry and retrieved the body of Snape. They meant to take his body elsewhere, give him a proper burial, if what Harry said about his loyalties was in fact true. But when they lifted him, they found a pulse. A faint, butterfly-like, almost-not

-there pulse. At St. Mungo's, the Healers said he was almost dead, mere minutes away, in fact, when they put him under the statis charm to preserve whatever life was clinging to his weary body.

The guilt ate away at you. If you'd only stayed… if you'd only checked more thoroughly for signs of life. Would he still be in statis? Would he be so close to death, touching it so closely you felt chills in his hospital room?

The guilt was powerful, but it was not what kept you visiting him.

You went to St. Mungo's every day.

You visited even when trials at the Ministry went late (you were often a witness, and the hours of testimony made you so bone-weary, your scratchy eyes and aching body protested any movement, let alone Apparition).

You visited even when you had to sneak out of the Burrow late at night or early in the morning so no one would know where you were going (occasionally you borrowed Harry's cloak, but your "war hero" status was usually enough to get you into Snape's room, no matter if visiting hours were over).

You visited even though your boyfriend thought it was strange (at first he accompanied you, assuming you wanted to pay your brief respects and nothing more, but eventually he became bored with the amount of the time you would spend at the bedside of your former professor, and stopped joining you. He told you it was strange more than once. You told him it was something you had to do. He nodded, as if he understood, and didn't push the issue any further, at least for a while).

You visited even though you had nothing to say. Even though you had no personal history with, nothing in common with, the man lying in the bed. Your only interaction was coloured through the lens of his hatred of your best friend and his intolerance (whether real or staged for his role; you assumed it was a healthy mix of both) of Gryffindors. He was cruel to you because he had to be, and because he happened to enjoy it. He disliked you no less than the other females in your House, and just a bit more due to your choice in friends. But his obvious frustration with your over eager academic recitation and "know-it-all" attitude aside, you had no one-on-one encounters. Ever.

And so you visited even though you knew, deep down, you did not know him. Not at all. For the one person that had always seemed so transparent was now frighteningly opaque. And it was that, not the guilt, that kept you going back, day after day, night after night. It was the thought that maybe somewhere, deep inside that incomprehensible man, there was a soul you had not seen. A soul that would reach out, acknowledge, and understand your own.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow. I am beyond flattered by the positive response to this story so far. Thank you all for taking the time to review and for putting this on your alerts and even favourites! You have no idea how much that means to me!

Here's another update, as I won't be able to update this Sunday (updates will be coming about once a week). Thanks again everyone!

* * *

Chapter Two

You do not know what you should feel when you see the castle for the first time since the battle. Walking toward the entrance, hand-in-hand with Ginny, you are assaulted with memories and uncertainty.

"All right, Gin?" you whisper to the girl beside you. The death of her older brother has hit her hard; Fred was her brother, her protector, her friend.

She smiles at you warmly and squeezes your hand. "Yeah," she says, and turns her eyes to the castle. "I have a something to make this year easier. George gave me a whack of product prototypes that he and Fred were working on before the battle. I'm going to test them on Slytherins."

You have to laugh at that, although it is not without reservation (how many Slytherins helped in the battle, how many almost died, or did die, how many children were hurt? How can you possibly judge the merit of a person on their school House?). "How very Fred of you," you say, squeezing her hand back. She is still smiling, but you see the reservation in her eyes as well.

The two of you enter the castle, last among the seventh years, and you breathe deeply. For despite your uncertainty, despite everything you feel, this truly is your home.

The castle has been rebuilt and cleansed fantastically, but there are still miniscule traces of Dark Magic; stationary staircases that no longer take unlucky students on wild rides… the faint smell of smoke (Fiendfyre)… portraits that no longer interact with their surroundings, choosing to stay silent and unmoving in their frames, their occasional blinking the only thing giving them away as magical at all.

Still, the signs of the devastation that befell the castle are infinitesimal. You survey your classmates; they do not appear to notice any differences at all. They are chatting animatedly as if nothing has happened, discussing Quidditch, their classes, and the House Cup.

Ginny squeezes your hand again, and knowing she is thinking the same thing, you squeeze back.

As you reach the doors to the Great Hall, your apprehension escalates. Beyond the heavy wood veneer, you know you will see _him_ for the first time in weeks. And though you are, in a way, prepared to see him again, when you walk through the doors and survey the Head Table, your breath catches as your eyes instantly find Severus Snape.

He is thin, even thinner than he was before, almost as thin as he was in St. Mungo's. His skin is stretched taught over his face, casting shadows underneath his cheekbones and ever-prominent nose (though he seems to be trying to hide this fact with curtains of thin hair, parted in the center and caressing the contours of his face more so than they used to). He is pale. His scarred neck is violently red, partially visible, as it peeks over the top of the robes that balloon around him (before you can stop it, you think of a wounded bat, and immediately feel ashamed). He looks bored. His features are set firmly in what would be a scowl, if he didn't look so uninterested in his surroundings; he is looking past the four House tables, his gaze unfocused and untrained on anything or anyone, as blank and unfriendly as ever.

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from him and follow Ginny to the Gryffindor table. She introduces you to a multitude of unfamiliar faces. Not many students in your year chose to come back, only the Ravenclaw table looks overly cramped, so you do not know as many of your fellow Gryffindors as Ginny does. You smile at them, introduce yourself, and answer their barrage of questions ("What is Harry Potter _really_ like?" "What was it like to hold a piece of You-Know-Who's soul?" "Is it true Ron is a werewolf?") before you hear a tinkling of glass, and all eyes are drawn to Headmistress McGonagall.

But you don't hear much of what she says. Somewhere in her welcoming speech you vaguely register her informing the students of what you already know; Professor Snape has, in fact, returned to Hogwarts, after overcoming "great personal obstacles," to teach Potions until a suitable replacement is found (Mr. Weasley told you Professor Slughorn wouldn't return for all the galleons in Gringotts). He is no longer the Head of Slytherin House, and she cautions the hushed room, although not in so many words, to not pry where they are not wanted, and let his Order of Merlin speak for itself.

But you are not really listening. Your attention is on him.

You are not stupid. You know he could care less about you, nor is he likely to be nicer than he was before the battle. But something is drawing you to him. Though you know, despite all that was revealed, that he has not changed, perhaps you have. For despite knowing he is ugly, and sickly, and bitter, and spiteful, and a bully, you know is he is more than the image he has projected, is still projecting. He is brave, and wounded, and damaged, just like you. And you can't take your eyes off of him.

* * *

You begged Harry to let you see the memories.

He had them, you knew he did. While Snape was in the hospital, Harry vowed to keep them safe, only relinquishing them to him when (if) he awoke (the Healers said they could only do so much against such a powerful neurotoxic venom; the rest was up to fate, as it were).

Harry wouldn't show the memories to anyone; not you, Ron, the Wizengamot, or the Order. After a lengthy battle, the Wizengamot agreed to clear Snape of all charges based on Harry's testimony alone, as it was believed, at the time, that there was little to no chance Severus Snape would live to see his trial (or his controversial Order of Merlin).

But even still, you asked Harry. You begged him. You pleaded to see what he had seen. All you knew was what everyone else knew; Snape had loved Lily Evans, had inadvertently caused her death, and had spent the rest of his life protecting her only son with unwavering bravery and loyalty. He risked his life daily to keep Potter's son alive, despite his hatred of James, because of his love for James' wife.

But you wanted to know more.

"He loved my mum, Hermione," Harry told you the last time you asked him. "He loved her a lot. I can't betray what he showed me."

That night you made your daily visit to St. Mungo's, knowing you would never see what Snape had shared with your friend, knowing deep inside that it was not for your eyes anyway. You used the cloak to slip into the ward unnoticed. In the dimly lit room, you watched Severus Snape in statis all night until the August dawn crept up on you. His frail, skeleton-like, motionless body. The lines on his face, still visible though his muscles were relaxed. His thin, pale lips, which spilled cruelties at every opportunity, now silent and still. The peace of the statis charm belied the war you knew raged inside him; the venom was waiting, desperate, to ravage his body the moment the protective spell was lifted.

You transfigured a tissue into a piece of parchment. With a muggle pen from your handbag, you wrote the only thing you could, the only three words that felt right. You shrunk the parchment and conjured a vial, as you did when you were in the Shrieking Shack. With tears falling down your cheeks, you slipped the words inside and laid it on his bedside table.

And for the second time that day, you begged. You begged Severus Snape to wake up all right. You touched his lifeless hand, you begged, and you wept. You cried for him, for everything he had lost, for his guilt, for his love, for a life he had never really been given a chance to live. You cried for Teddy, Tonks, Lupin, Andromeda, and for the Potters, the Goyles, the Malfoys. You cried for Ron, for his loss, for abandoning him while he was among it and not truly knowing why.

But mostly, you cried for the crushing weight of the remorse you felt that you had lived; for the guilt that you were in one piece, and the man who had kept you safe for so many years was dying in the bed before you.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Again, I am eternally grateful for all the reviews, alerts, and even favourites. Thank you EVERYONE for your feedback, it means so much!  
Just a quick note, I will be updating once a week, usually on Sundays (although it depends on my work schedule, etc).

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Three

The damp cool of the dungeon mixed with the rich warmth of the smell of herbs, spices, and potions assaults your senses, sparks your memory, the moment you walk through the classroom door. For a fleeting moment you feel the shame and embarrassment of being reprimanded in front of an entire class by a man with the iciest of demeanors and cruelest of tongues. But as quickly as those memories surface, they are replaced by the remembered fear of seeing his limp body in St. Mungo's, so deathly still, unresponsive to the lightest of touches on his hand.

He would kill you if he knew you did that. Suddenly fear takes back its seat of precedence.

It is your first, and in fact _the_ first, Potions lesson of the school year. No one, yourself especially, knows what to expect. Gryffindors and Slytherins together would be precarious in a regular class, but this time, you are all on your best behaviour. No one is sure what to anticipate from the former Headmaster, and if the strained silence of your classmates is any indication, everyone is preparing for the worst.

You and Ginny grab a table near the back of the room (she insists). You do not unpack your bags, or chat, or even fidget. Instead, you wait quietly, hands folded on the table in front of you like the others, for Professor Snape to arrive.

He alerts the room to his presence moments later by slamming the dungeon door behind him (you cannot suppress a small start, though neither can the majority of the class, Ginny included). Snape sweeps toward his desk fluidly, his voluminous robes making it appear as though he is gliding across the stone floor.

He turns to the class and stays silent, his black eyes surveying each and every student coldly, challenging them, willing them into submission. You feel like a first year again, except this time you are not eager for him to notice you, accept you, acknowledge your brilliance (for isn't that what you had always wanted?). This time, you are dreading his eyes on you.

When his gaze finally finds yours, he sneers and looks away instantly. Something in your belly sinks and you feel your cheeks burn.

"N.E.W.T. level Potions," he says in a quiet voice, almost as if to himself. "Had I been your Potions teacher the past two years, I suspect most of you would not be here." He continues scanning the room, daring anyone to argue with him, to bring up exactly what he was doing the past two years.

"Suffice it to say," he continues when it is apparent no one is about to challenge his authority, "I will not be your professor much longer, perhaps not even until the end of term. However I will not accept laziness or tardiness while I am here. You are here to prepare for your N.E.W.T.s and I expect you to act as such."

Seemingly satisfied with the hushed quiet of the room, Snape arches one eyebrow, as if daring anyone to break the silence, and turns to the board. "You will be brewing The Elixir to Induce Euphoria." With a wave of his wand, the potion's ingredients and instructions appear. "This is a potion you should have learned in your sixth year, so let's see how you all do, shall we?"

At first no one moves, but as soon as Snape barks, "Well get going!" the room is full of frightened, fumbling students rushing towards the storeroom.

There should be comfort in the familiar, you realize, but there is not. Snape's demeanor is as it always was. And while you never held any expectations that he would be a different teacher, like you knew he wouldn't be a different man, you had hoped, perhaps stupidly, that he would not hate you the way he used to. But the loathing you saw in his eyes when he looked at you is enough to make you sick.

Snape avoids you for the rest of the class.

He does not once pass by your table to offer criticism (nor does he offer compliments, but that would be too ridiculous to hope for). He doesn't answer Ginny when she puts up her hand with a question. As he sweeps past the other tables, inspecting each cauldron, making comments, his eyes never even venture in your direction.

You know this because you watch him.

But despite your distraction, and despite the fact that you haven't been in a classroom for over a year, you still manage to brew a successful Elixir. And without Neville in the class, you don't even lose House points for whispering instructions under your breath (those memories tug at your heart… how much has happened since then…). When the bell rings, you carefully bottle a sample of your work and put it on Snape's desk, avoiding his gaze. But as you are gathering your books, with Ginny waiting, a cold voice startles you out of your haste to leave the dungeon.

"Miss Granger."

You freeze, and look up. Professor Snape is sitting at his desk, his arms folded across his chest, looking at you impassively.

"Yes sir?" you say, and you are amazed that your voice does not betray your shallow breathing, your beating heart.

"A word."

Ginny gives you a weak smile and whispers "see you in the common room?" You nod and watch her walk away with the last of your classmates, the heavy dungeon door closing behind her with a loud thud.

You turn back to Snape. With no classroom noise, no students chattering or cauldrons bubbling or utensils clattering, the silence feels impossibly heavy. You wonder if he feels it.

"Sit, Miss Granger."

You sit.

He does not say anything for a while. Instead, he watches you as you did him earlier. You notice it seems as though he is looking for something, waiting for something. The hate in his eyes is gone, but your fear is still present. You try and match his gaze with unwavering Gryffindor bravery, but you cannot, and, all too quickly, you find yourself looking down at your hands, suppressing the urge to apologize (though you have no idea for what).

When he finally does speak, it startles you, and you have to stop yourself from jumping in your seat for the second time that morning.

"I have been informed," he says slowly, "that I am in possession of something of yours."

You look up. "Sir?"

He reaches into a drawer and sets a vial onto his desk. You know that vial.

You hesitate. "How do you know it's mine?" you ask in a voice that betrays your apprehension.

He raises one eyebrow, but does not answer.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, unsure how you should proceed. You decide on silence.

He scoffs. "Aren't you going to reclaim your property?"

You flush. "I don't want it."

Suddenly his voice is frighteningly low, and you know he is furious. "Get over here, Miss Granger, and take this away from me."

You are scared. You obey. You walk slowly up to his desk and take the vial. Inside you can see the small piece of parchment. You don't take your eyes off of it. You flush even more.

Before you can turn around he hisses, "I do not need your pity, or your so-called gratitude, Miss Granger. Do not EVER bring it up again. Is that clear?"

For a moment you are alarmed (when have you not been properly reprimanded by an angry authority figure?). But something stops you from saying the "yes sir" that threatens to spill from your lips automatically. Instead, you look at him. This is the first time you have been able to study him up close since he was in St. Mungo's. Despite his black eyes, cold with fury, you know this is the same person you sat beside for months, the same person whose recovery you prayed for, the same person who sacrificed so much. This is the same person whose very life means so much to you.

You force yourself to look away, though. You don't dare to look at him so openly for more than a second; you don't want to anger him more. That was never your intention.

You clear your throat. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"No you may not. Now leave."

Now you're angry; you feel the telltale burning in your chest, the sparkling electricity in your hair causing it to become even more out of control. You expected this, of course. You knew he wouldn't wake up suddenly nice, or cordial, or accommodating. But you never thought he would treat you like this.

"I am not a child anymore, Professor," you say slowly. "I don't expect you to treat me like an equal but you could at least treat me with some respect."

He is clearly surprised, but no less furious. "You are trying my patience, Miss Granger. I do not want this vial, or the 'sentiment' it expresses, and I will not take cheek from a student."

"I am not just a student!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor."

You almost laugh. "I don't care about House points, sir."

"Twenty points!"

You feel the hot sting of tears behind your eyes. This is not going well, he is not understanding. Could he ever understand what it meant to you, when you heard he had woken up? What he meant to you when you visited him? How he was, in so many ways, your only hope? The only one that could, possibly, understand?

Looking at his face, twisted in rage, your head says no. He never could, never would, understand.

But something in you so badly wants to make him, somewhere inside you you know you could.

"I don't care about House points, Professor," you repeat softly. "I stopped caring about such things a long time ago."

He doesn't say anything. You continue, knowing this might be your only opportunity.

"I never meant to offend you. I left that for you on purpose, hoping you wouldn't know it was me... but I had to... I wanted..." you shake your head, wondering how to articulate what you need to. "I had to let you know that I wanted you to wake up. I wanted you to live. So many people are dead, and hurt, and..." you don't realize you're unconsciously rubbing a scar on your forearm until you see Snape's eyes move there. You quickly stop and pull down the sleeve of your robe. "I just... I'm sorry for what you went through, all right? I'm not pitying you, or making you out to be something you're not... it's not like I'm going to start following you around like some ridiculous schoolgirl who fancies you!"

His eyebrows raise slightly at this. You instantly feel like a chastened first year, taken to task over saying something stupid. You falter for a moment, gather your bearings. "Please sir," you say, hearing your voice get higher as you beg, "don't think I did anything with malicious intent, because I didn't. I just wanted you to know that I..." You hesitate. "That… I'm sorry. And I... care."

He looks at you, as expressionless as ever. At least he's not as angry anymore, you tell yourself.

"Are you quite through?" he asks.

You nod, clutching the vial in your hand tightly. "Yes sir."

"Good. Rest assured, Miss Granger, you _are_ a student here, whether you believe yourself to be above such a label or not, and as such, prying into the personal affairs of teachers and forcing yourself upon them in such a manner is highly inappropriate. _And_ against school policy, may I add. You should know this, as I'm sure you've memorized _Hogwarts: A History _ten times over. Ten more points from Gryffindor and detention 9:30 Saturday morning."

You feel your eyes widen, not expecting that. Snape looks wickedly pleased with your surprise.

"Now. Get. Out," he says quietly, dangerously, and you realize the anger was never gone.

Hurriedly, you gather your things from your table and leave the dungeons, carrying your bag, your books, and a vial with the three words you still mean with all your heart…

"I'm so sorry."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Again, I can't thank you all enough for the reviews and the story follows and favourites! Thanks for being so wonderful! Make sure to check my profile page for any news/delays with the story. But so far we're right on schedule.  
I also thought I should just warn you all that this is not going to be your typical happy ending Snape/Hermione fic. Hermione is in a relationship with Ron at the moment, and Snape is not the nicest guy (as we saw in the last chapter). I'm trying to keep things close to canon in that regard. However this is labeled a romance between HG/SS for a reason! It might just take a few chapters to warm up, so to speak.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Four

You manage to avoid anyone until dinner. When you walk into the Great Hall (studiously avoiding a glance at the Head Table), you see Ginny sitting with the rest of the Gryffindors already. You make a beeline for her, apologizing for not meeting up with her in the common room earlier.

"That's ok, I had some work to do for Charms anyway," she smiles. "So what happened with Snape?"

You feel yourself flush at the memory, in anger and embarrassment. "He found something of mine. At St. Mungo's."

Ginny's eyes grow wide. "Oh. So... he knows you were there?"

You nod.

"Well I'm sure he had other visitors. That can't be so bad, can it?"

You don't tell her his visitors were mostly limited to yourself, Harry occasionally, and Rita Skeeter, who never actually succeeded in getting in the room.

"It was bad."

"How bad?"

"I have detention."

She almost spits out her pumpkin juice. You try not to laugh as she coughs and sputters, but to no avail. Soon you are both laughing.

"I can't believe he gave you detention for visiting him!" Ginny giggles. "Hermione Granger has a detention for being a good person!"

You shrug, feeling guilty. "Well it was more than that... I told him to stop treating me so poorly, and..." you stop yourself, not sure you want to reveal exactly what happened. Ginny is looking at you with expectation, waiting for you to finish. "And... he didn't like that so much."

She nods. "Yeah, I guess no matter what happened in the war, Snape will always be Snape."

You suppress the urge to correct her informal use of his last name, realizing you don't know what to call him in your mind anymore. For some reason, "Professor" doesn't seem right. But you are a student, and he is your teacher. And no matter what you saw, what torture you endured (quite literally), no matter how many of your friends and loved ones suffered, or how many of his did, that is all you are to Professor Snape. Another pesky student.

The next morning at breakfast, you receive your first Owl from Ron. Feeding Pig a bit of your bacon, hoping the fat will slow him down a bit (knowing it won't, as he eats it in three seconds flat and continues to circle your plate), you unroll the parchment.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How are you? I'm doing great, but I miss you. I'm staying at Grimmauld Place for a while, helping Harry fix it up, but it's still pretty bloody dull without you around. We can't get rid of boggarts as well as you, and I'm getting sick of seeing giant spiders in the spare room every time it gets chilly at night and I have to get an extra blanket.  
Auror training is going well, so far. Everyone asks why you're not with us, but we keep telling them we couldn't keep you away from the books if we paid you. I'm even doing as well as Harry (I guess the DA really paid off!) but it's still rough at times._

_George is doing ok. I go to the Burrow every couple days to see him, Mum, and Dad. Dad is still working a shit ton of hours at the Ministry, and Mum is still having a hard time, so George is kind of the man of the house for now. He's going to be ok I think... But some times are better than others._

_How's Hogwarts? Does it look all right? I hope the Room of Requirement's ok. Mum says it might be permanently damaged from the Fiendfyre. But the castle wouldn't be the same without that room, don't you think? Go check on it with Ginny if you can._  
_Mum & Dad say hi. Harry says hi too. He'll write you soon._

_Pig'll stay at Hogwarts for the day, so write back when you can._

_Miss you,_

_Love Ron_

"So what does Ron have to say?" Ginny asks, and suddenly you feel a number of female eyes on you. You look around at the rest of the table and yes, they are interested. Sometimes being part of the "Golden Trio," especially one member of the "Golden Trio couple," is really is a pain.

"He's good," you smile. "Says it's not the same without me. He's staying at Grimmauld Place for a while, helping Harry to fix it up." With that, the majority of the eyes move away, determining there will be no proper gossip.

Ginny nods. "Yeah, Harry told me. That'll be good for them. And me, when I move in!" she laughs.

You have to admit you're a little surprised. "You're moving in?"

She shrugs as if it's no big deal. "Harry and I talked about it, yeah. He asked me to move in after the NEWTs, and I said I'd think about it." There is a glow about her, when she talks about Harry. "Of course I'll do it though, I just wanted to make sure to think it through."

"Wow, that's great," you say, and turn your attention back to Pig, who is eyeing the rest of your bacon. You give him another piece and send him to the Owlery. "I'll have my response by dinner," you tell him, and he hoots enthusiastically as he leaves.

"You ok, Hermione?" Ginny asks. "You seem... off."

You smile at your friend. "Of course I am, I'm just a little surprised you two are moving so fast. But of course it's wonderful."

You can't tell her the truth, because the truth is you don't know how you really feel anyway. You feel so many things, these days. They are jumbled, swirling in the pit of your stomach, the hollow of your chest, and you cannot define them. They float through you, never lingering long enough for you to identify, but return when you least expect it. The inability to define anything is frightening, you are confused and inarticulate in a way that is completely foreign to you. Since when did you have trouble speaking to a Professor? When you spoke to Snape your words made no sense, you are ashamed of them, for you know he thought you to be pitying him. Your words didn't correspond to what was in your mind, your heart, your soul.

But your mind, your heart, and your soul, are all very different parts of you now, all separate.

Your mind replays the bone-deep ache of the Cruciatis, the crumbling castle, the stench of blood, the nausea, the stuffy air of St. Mungo's, the feel of a cold lifeless hand, the funerals, the orphans, the horrifying details of gore and senseless murder you had to hear at the trials.

Your heart relives the smell of Ron's skin as you held him at the battle, the feel of his lips on yours, the weight of his body on you as you finally, finally became one with him, the shy smile on his face waking up next to you in the morning, his fingers brushing a stray curl out of your eyes, the hurt look in his eyes when you left every day, the forced understanding, the unasked questions.

And your soul only feels. And they are feelings you cannot pick out, label, and therefore do not know how to manage.

You smile at Ginny, and she smiles back, uncertainly. "I'm really happy for you," you say, because you know you probably are. "And I love you both," you add, because that, you know you truly do.

She smiles broadly then, convinced you are ok, and whispers "Thanks. I love you and Ron too, you know."

The two of you return to your breakfasts, but you don't have an appetite anymore. Suddenly you realize what the horrible feeling in your stomach is.

Panic.

You are terrified you are next.

* * *

You do not have Potions that day, and you are grateful. You avoid Professor Snape's general direction through breakfast and lunch, and when dinner comes you concentrate on eating quickly and finishing up your letter to Ron.

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm so glad to hear from you. I miss you too. Hogwarts is not the same without you (or Harry, or Neville, or Luna of course). Luckily I have Ginny, she and I share a room with a couple of other girls and I am very grateful to have such a good friend here._

I'm also very happy to hear your Auror training is going well and that you and Harry are fixing up Grimmauld Place. I imagine after a long day of training you probably don't feel like dealing with a boggart, so I promise to get rid of it (them?) as soon as I am able to visit.

_Professor McGonagall asks about you and Harry, of course, as does Hagrid and (almost) every other member of the faculty and student body. I suppose it's strange for them to see us separated, since we've been inseparable for so many years. Hopefully you can visit soon?_

_The castle actually looks wonderful, it is almost as if nothing ever happened. There are some small indicators of the battle of course, but overall it has been repaired beautifully. Some pretty impressive magic, I have to say. I would love to find out who did it and how long it took. I imagine Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had a lot to do with it. It must have been a long summer for them._

_I haven't had a chance to check the Room of Requirement yet, but I did pick up some books on Dark Magic (nothing dangerous, don't worry) in the library and I have to say, I'm not overly optimistic. There are definitely traces of the Fiendfyre around the castle. I can still smell the smoke faintly in some corridors near the ROR, so there is a very definite possibility there is permanent, or at least extensive damage._

_However I know Hogwarts can repair itself in a lot of ways, so I do hope it will "heal" itself completely in time. I will keep you posted. I'll try and get Ginny to come with me this weekend._

_Give your Mum & Dad & George & Harry my love._

_Love Hermione_

You avoid the topic of your conversation with Snape and your subsequent detention, and of Ginny & Harry moving in together. In fact, you realize neither his letter nor yours is overly personal, except for the 'miss you's and 'love.' But you don't worry about it, you are both busy and overworked, and when you see each other you know you will feel that warmth in your chest that grounds you, that feeling of comfort that spreads throughout your body when he holds you.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Sorry this is so late and so short, everyone. This story is really coming along, but I've been housesitting for family AND I'm getting ready to go to Hawaii next week, so things have been nuts. I promise I will keep updating, and thanks for your support!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Five

Though a huge part of you is dreading your Saturday morning detention, another small part is almost looking forward to it. After so many consecutive days spent at Snape's bedside, not seeing him feels frightening in a way. Knowing he is alive, seeing it for yourself, is comforting, no matter how much his presence frightens you.

You manage to shower and dress quietly without waking your dormmates, and head out of the deserted common room without seeing another soul.

"Up early, aren't we?" comments the Fat Lady to your back. You turn around. "Oh never mind, dear, I didn't realize it was you, with your hair in a plait like that," she says. "Headed to the library again, I imagine. Always in the library." You don't correct her.

You walk to the dungeons, making sure you are five minutes early. You knock on the closed classroom door.

You hear Snape say "Enter," through the heavy doors in his usual bored tone, and you do as you are told, cautiously.

He is sitting at his desk, scribbling on a parchment (from the furious motion of his quill, you can only assume he is marking a particularly unimpressive assignment)."Miss Granger," he says, not looking up, "you have happened upon a bit of luck. Some of your housemates earned detention yesterday and finished sorting through all the rotten Flubberworms." You are unable to suppress a shudder, and though Snape is still not looking at you, the quirk of his mouth suggests he senses your discomfort and is, of course, quite pleased with it.

"Therefore," he continues, "You will be assisting Professor Sprout with some gardening in the greenhouses."

Your heart sinks. It shouldn't, but somehow, this feels like a rejection, a low blow. Can he not even be in the same room as you?

But you can't say that, or anything for that matter. You don't want to anger him further. "Yes sir," you say quietly.

Snape leads you to the greenhouses in silence. You don't dare break it. You follow him, a few steps behind, struggling slightly to keep up with his long strides.

You reach the greenhouse, and you can tell Professor Sprout is surprised to see you are the student Snape is bringing to help on a Saturday. She puts you to work, although she assigns you an already mostly pruned bunch of Umbrella Flowers with a knowing smile. You have to smile back.

"I don't think so, Pomona," Snape says, and both your smirk and Professor Sprout's immediately vanish. "I am running low on Fire Seeds. It would be more prudent for Miss Granger to harvest those for me today, as it is my detention."

Professor Sprout gives you a sympathetic shrug. "Of course, Severus."

He nods. "I presume you remember how to harvest Fire Seeds, Miss Granger?"

Of course you know how to harvest Fire Seeds. You learned that in Herbology years ago. You feel anger rise in your chest. Snape has his eyebrow raised at you as if in challenge.

Suddenly you realize, he knows you know how to harvest Fire Seeds. He _is_ challenging you.

You look at him closely. He's standing tall, arms crossed against his chest, staring at you in his silent confrontation. You know he wants you to get angry, to talk back. He is baiting you in a way he never has before. And why? Are you imagining it?

Snape raises his other eyebrow. His lip twitches, as if he's about to say something, or smile, but is holding back. You're not imagining it. He _is_ challenging you. But you don't sense the usual maliciousness in his stance, his face. His gaunt, sallow skin does not look any healthier, but something in his expression feels so… human to you.

Something in your stomach flips.

"Yes sir," you say finally. "A Glacius Charm."

He nods slowly, staring at you a hair longer than necessary (or is _that_ your imagination?) and turns to Professor Sprout. "Miss Granger should be kept occupied until lunch. I will be in Greenhouse Three, if you require my assistance."

Suddenly you have the urge to ask him what _he's_ serving detention for. You blush at your nerve, even though you don't say it, and smile to yourself.

"Is something amusing, Miss Granger?"

You look at him. "No sir," you say. "Nothing."

He glares, clearly not believing you, turns around, and exits the greenhouse.

Professor Sprout leads you to a small Fire Seed Bush, and you begin working. The Glacius Charm is easy enough, and you make light work of the morning. But that means your mind has free reign to be occupied elsewhere.

And it can't stop thinking about black eyes, a raised eyebrow, and a tall, imposing figure, baiting you.

Taunting you.

Teasing you.

Your stomach flips at the thought of that word, feels fluttery.

Butterflies.

And you have to think of something else.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay everyone, I was away on vacation! Updates will be more regular (probably not every week, but at least every two, depending on my muse and my schedule). Thanks again for all your feedback!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Six

You spend the rest of the weekend studying. When she's not practicing for Quidditch tryouts, Ginny joins you, which is surprising. But you enjoy her company, she is a quiet companion beside you in the library, letting you work in silence while she writes letters to her family and to Harry. Her presence is comforting.

You don't fail to notice, however, that it is unusual for her to spend so much time in relative solitude. She was always one of the most social girls in Gryffindor, always with a group of people (and always followed by the most eligible boys from your House). But she has changed, as you have. And you can't help but notice she is shying away from most.

But you don't blame her. It's not easy being Hermione Granger since the war; It can't be easy being the girlfriend of Harry Potter and the sister of Ronald Weasley either. Not to mention she is still grieving. You see it in her eyes every time she laughs; she is there, but part of her isn't. A part of her has been stolen, in a way, and she hasn't found it, or started to repair yet.

But in a selfish way, you are grateful. She understands. And something about Ginny being with you lets your mind rest in a way it doesn't when you are alone, or with others. It is like solitude, but less lonely, and it puts you at ease. You are thankful she too is sick of the people, the incessant questions, the prying and the insensitivity, for the contented silence between you two is more precious to you than you can describe.

With Ginny at your side, the other comfort you revel in is your studies. You read and memorize and read and memorize until your eyes burn and your entire body protests its fatigue. Your mind cannot wander when it is so focused and she is beside you. And this weekend especially, you cannot afford to have it wander. For you feel like something is pulling at you, tugging at your consciousness, a truth or revelation of some kind that is threatening to reveal itself, and you do not want it to. Something is happening, you can feel it. Something is unraveling inside you, and you are frightened.

And so you study. And the deep ache of exhaustion and the irresistible lure of your heavy eyelids, soft sheets, and down pillow, are soothing. For when you finally crawl into bed after hours of reading, you sleep soundly, and your dreams are not so haunted.

* * *

Monday arrives, and with it, another Potions class.

You did not see Professor Snape much for the rest of the weekend after your detention. He was in the Great Hall for mealtimes, but other than observing that he was safely sitting at the High Table along with the other Professors (you still feel the need to know whether he is all right, after so long worrying), you tried your best to ignore his presence. But now the prospect of having another unpleasant encounter with him in his classroom does not make you feel well.

The door to the classroom is closed when you and Ginny arrive. You wait, along with the few other N.E.W.T. level Potions students (a condition of his return was that he again would only take students who achieved Outstanding on their O.W.L.S).

Five minutes prior to the beginning of class, Snape opens the door. He glares at everyone. "Inside," he says. You have to pass him to enter through the doorway. As you do, you look up at him. You don't know why. He sneers. You look back down.

"Silence," he says, after you have all settled into your seats. "Do not take out your books. Today, as we have a double class, you will be brewing the Wiggenweld Potion. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

Ginny looks at you. Half the class does too. But you don't put up your hand.

You know what the potion is, of course. You know its properties, its purpose, and vaguely how to brew it. But you don't put up your hand.

Even Snape seems surprised. He looks at you briefly, before surveying the rest of the class. "No one? Surely _one_of our school's esteemed N.E.W.T.-level students has completed their assigned reading?"

He is silent. Finally Dean Thomas puts up his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"The Wiggenweld Potion is an antidote for the Draught of Living Death, Sir."

Snape raises an eyebrow. "And?"

Dean clears his throat. "That's all I remember, Sir."

"Disappointing." He turns to you. "Miss Granger?"

You look up at him. You did not have your hand raised. He has that look on his face again, the usual raised brow, the slight smirk… he is challenging you, again, like he did on Saturday. You feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, and you pray he cannot here it.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Surely you know the answer, Miss Granger, though your effort to restrain your incessant hand-waving is quite remarkable."

You almost smile. You know what he is doing.

It is not an apology, nor is it an olive branch. But you know now that you have affected him. Perhaps not as you wanted to, but your presence, whatever he knows of it (you hope he does not know you were there every day, or that you cried over his motionless body, has been acknowledged without provocation. He is cold, as he always was. But he can no longer ignore you.

"The Wiggenweld Potion is a healing potion that can awaken a person from any magically-induced sleep. It has an extensive list of ingredients, including the bark of the magical rowan shrub, the Wiggentree. It is viscous, and if brewed correctly, should turn a true Kelly green."

Snape nods slightly. "Another answer straight from the textbook. As expected."

Your face burns. The feeling of triumph you felt earlier when he acknowledged you fades slightly at his predictable insult.

But you still hold on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he is starting to not hate you so much. And maybe, if you do your best to not provoke him, he will soften to you, if only enough to one day stop his insults.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I'm going to have to stop promising regular updates, because every time I do, my muse flees. Two months. Wow, that is terrible. I have the next chapter well under way though, so hopefully things keep going smoothly *knocks on wood*. This fic will never, ever be abandoned though, so have no fear.  
Thanks again for all your feedback, it means so, so much! If I haven't responded it's because ff . net hates me and was making it difficult for a while there. I promise to respond to everything from now on!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Seven

Professor Snape spends the rest of September, and most of October, behaving as if nothing has happened between you.

Without any acknowledgement from him, whether you are in class (he ignores you, as he always has, only granting you any attention when he is forced to), in the Great Hall (he rarely looks at anyone, as usual), or even on the Quidditch pitch (Ginny made the team, of course, although she declined the offer to be Captain, so you have been watching her practices religiously, and quite enjoyed the first match of the year; a Gryffindor victory against Slytherin), you find yourself wondering if there really was anything to Snape's behaviour earlier, at all. Perhaps you imagined it. Perhaps it was all in your head, and you are behaving like a silly, delusional schoolgirl (though you don't fancy him at all); something you swore you would never be.

But you try and remind yourself that no, there was something. There was a softening, teasing even, void of the usual maliciousness. And that softening, though it is frightening in a way, is also what gives you hope. Perhaps he will not hate you forever.

Ron writes you every few days. He never says much, but he does keep you updated on his family, his Auror training, and Crookshanks (who has been staying with the Weasleys for over a year. When you see him, you can tell he prefers the fertile mouse hunting grounds around the Burrow to the Castle's rather stark-in-comparison surroundings). You miss your Familiar. You wonder if it would be selfish to have Mrs. Weasley send Crookshanks back to you. But you know he has taken a particular shine to George (George's mischievous nature appeals to your half-Kneazel very much), and you know you couldn't, wouldn't, ever take him away.

And so as October rolls on, you can't help feeling lonely at times. With Ginny spending more time with Quidditch, your library companion is no longer available at all hours (although you watch her practices, she is usually too knackered afterwards to do much but rest), and you find yourself sleeping less and dreaming more. You miss your parents; your mother brushing your unruly hair from your face, kissing your forehead, her soft, fragrant perfume lulling you to sleep (you have a sample in your book bag), the gentle sound of your father's voice telling you everything will be fine, his kind smile reassuring you and keeping the nightmares at bay (you carry a picture buried in your study notes).

You will go back for them one day, you tell yourself, and you know you will. But for now, you just can't. It's too dangerous. And you are too scared.

* * *

By early October there is already buzz about the Halloween Feast. As the date approaches, a rumor among the Gryffindor girls develops that there will be a surprise on Halloween, some kind of party to celebrate the fall of the Dark Lord.

But you aren't so keen. The Saturday prior, exactly one week before All Hallow's Eve, you and Ginny finally have a spare afternoon to venture to the Room of Requirement, and you find out she agrees with you.

"I hate the rumors," she says, trying her best to be quiet in the vacant halls. The weather is unseasonably warm for late October, and most students enjoying their Hogsmeade weekend. But you and Ginny are continuing your pattern of segregating yourself from the rest, and you are grateful that for the moment, Hogwarts seems abandoned . "A Halloween party, really? It's ridiculous, that idea. A party, to celebrate death. What bloody good fun!" Ginny claps her hands in mock excitement and rolls her eyes.

You have to smile at her sarcasm. "It does seem a touch insensitive, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does!" she exclaims, her eyes full of fire. But the fire dies quickly. "I understand, though, you know? How many people have been married since the war ended? How many witches are pregnant? I mean it's pretty obvious that people want to celebrate at the end of a war."

You shrug. "I suppose so, yes."

"Harry and I are a pretty good example of that, actually," she says, as you both reach the corridor where the Room is located. "Marrying young, like Mum & Dad. They were married during the first war, actually."

You feel uncomfortable again. "Marrying?"

"Yeah, well, not right away, but you know what I mean," she says, looking at the wall where the Room's door should appear, her mind already on the project. "All right, how should we test this?"

You look at the wall as well. "I didn't find anything in any books, so there's only one way we can do this. One of us will have to walk by three times and think about what we require."

"And what do we require? A fully functional Room of Requirement?"

You smile. "Well yes, but let's start out with something easy. Let's say the loo."

She nods. "Ok. You go first though; I don't have to use the loo quite yet and I'm not much of an actress."

You have to laugh. "All right. Watch carefully for any change in the wall, or even the floor, or anything at all, really." She nods.

You walk past the wall three times, thinking 'I need the loo' over and over, imaging a full bladder.

Nothing happens.

Ginny frowns. "Let me try," she says. You watch her walk past the wall three times, looking like she is concentrating. Again, nothing happens.

You sigh, sadly. You had hoped, really REALLY hoped, that Mrs. Weasley was wrong about the Fiendfyre. You researched it thoroughly, of course, and knew its magic was too Dark, too powerful to predict the ramifications. You were both hopeful and wary, but she was right, after all.

"Let's try again. Something easier. Let's think about how we just need a chair."

You shake your head. "It won't work, Gin."

"I know," she says softly. "But let's try."

Ginny is making her eighth trip past the wall (this time thinking about a sandwich) when you hear something behind you.

"I suppose this is somehow relevant to your studies, Miss Weasley?"

You both spin towards the soft, silky voice. When you see him you freeze.

Snape.

He is smirking at Ginny, looking like he is very pleased to have her trapped (although for what, you can't imagine… you certainly aren't breaking any rules).

Ginny swallows audibly. You can't help but be amused that after all this time, after all she went through to defy his authority in the year he was Headmaster, Snape can still frighten her as if she were a first year. "Yes, Sir," she says. "It is actually. Hermione and I were just testing something. For Transfiguration."

You almost roll your eyes at the lie; Snape could see through that one in his sleep.

"And what, pray tell, would that test involve?" he asks, disbelief quite evident in the tone of his voice

"The Room of Requirement, Sir," she continues, channeling her inner Gryffindor and appearing less nervous. "We thought perhaps we could repair it."

A muscle in Snape's jaw tenses, just then. You know this because you are staring at him; at the darkness under his eyes, the deep shadows caused by bone, stretched skin, perhaps lack of sleep? You can't be sure.

Snape looks at you, his eyes narrowed. "What is it, Miss Granger?" he hisses.

You blush. "Nothing, Sir," you say. You go with a hunch. "Ginny is telling the truth, though," you continue. "We were testing the Room, to see if it was damaged for good. On account of the Fiendfyre."

The muscle ticks again. You press on. "Perhaps you could help us, Sir. You're much more knowledgeable in Defense Against the Dark Arts than Professor Wentworth. If there is any hope to repair the Room, could you help?"

He looks at you. You wait.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, trust more talented witches than yourselves are working on repairing this castle, Headmistress McGonagall being one of them. Five points from Gryffindor each for attempting, albeit poorly, to deceive a Professor. I suggest that whatever you are up to, you cease immediately and go elsewhere."

You can tell Ginny is sufficiently defeated. She begins to walk away, but you stay put. "Please, Sir," you say softly, doing your best to remain calm, to keep him calm. "Can you tell us anything at all? Is there any chance the Room could ever go back to normal? Has there been any progress? Has Headmistress-"

Snape holds his hand up and effectively silences you. "Miss Granger, that is none of your concern."

"But it _is_," you insist, your voice getting high. "It _is_ my concern, Professor. I was _there_! I-"

"Miss Granger!" He snaps. "Control yourself!"

You do. You can sense Ginny behind you, willing to you shut up before he takes any more House points.

Suddenly though, Snape's angry face softens for a moment. His eyes are darting from your face to the wall where the Room's door would appear then back to your face, as if he is thinking rapidly.

"Miss Weasley," he says slowly, without looking at Ginny. "Leave."

You hear her hesitate. "Hermione?" she whispers.

You should turn around, follow her. Snape didn't tell you to stay, after all. You should go with your friend.

But you are still staring at him, and you… you can't leave. And you don't think he wants you to.

"It's ok, Ginny," you say. You don't turn around, but you know she hears you in the quiet of the halls. "I'll see you in the Great Hall for supper."

She hesitates, again, but soon you hear her footsteps walking away, quickly, until their sound disappears.

And you are alone, with Snape, once again.

He is no longer ignoring you. His eyes are still narrowed, suspicious, but now, he is not speaking to you as a professor.

"What do you mean you were there?"

He has rendered you speechless (again). You don't know how to respond (again). You weren't expecting that (again). He has a knack for that.

"I was there," you finally say, looking at the wall in question. You had just kissed Ron, but you had to stop, had to keep searching for the Diadem. You remember the smell, the fear… the adrenalin that kept you alive. Watching the Room, the beautiful Room, go up in smoke, flames… and soon after, watching Fred die.

Fred dead. And Crabbe dead. By his own spell, the fire.

"Miss Granger?"

You look up at Snape. He is waiting, is impatient.

"I was in the Room of Requirement, when it was destroyed. Or at least, just before."

He raises an eyebrow, which you assume is his invitation for you to continue.

"We were looking for the Diadem… Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. It was in the Room."

"'We?'"

You flinch. He's not going to like this part.

"Harry, Ron, and myself."

"And?"

"And… Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. They found us there. Crabbe started the fire…"

You feel your palms begin to sweat, thinking of the ride out of the Room on the broomstick, the fire lapping at you… how you hate flying…

Snape nods, then, almost in recognition. Just one curt nod… But it is something.

You realize now is the only time you will be able to speak, and you take the opportunity. "Please, Sir…Is there any hope for it? For the Room?"

After a moment, seeming to weigh his words carefully but his expression still fathomless, he says, very slowly, "It is… unknown."

And you sigh, in relief. For he answered you. "Thank you, Sir," you say, and you smile at him. You know it is a weak smile, but your heart is beating so fast…

Your heart…

Snape leaves, then; turns on his heel and walks away. You don't want him to… there are so many things you want to ask him. But you know there is nothing you can do to make him stay. You can think of nothing that would keep him there, keep him speaking to you like he did, like you aren't just a student, like you're a person.

Nothing...


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Can you believe this is here already? And I'm working on chapter ten so I will be posting more frequently, at least for a while. Thanks again to everyone for your feedback, I will reply to your reviews asap!

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Monday morning at lunch, Headmistress McGonagall announces that the rumors are, in part, true, and that the Hallowe'en Feast this year is in fact going to be different. After the Feast, there will be a memorial service for those lost in the battle, followed by a small celebration dance for the older students.

You groan inwardly. You do not want to go. Revisiting the list of names, remembering all of it... You are already planning to visit the Headmistress and ask her your attendance is mandatory when Pig arrives.

As usual, he is overly excited, and Ginny feeds him while you untie the letters from his leg. "There's one for you, Gin," you say. She smiles and takes it from you as Pig hoots his appreciation for the sausage she gave him. The other letter is for you, from Ron.

_Dear Hermione,  
I have some great news! Me and Harry will be coming to Hogwarts on Saturday for the Hallowe'en Feast, memorial, and dance. We'll be arriving after lunch. Where can we meet?_

_Can't wait to see you!_

_Love Ron_

"Hermione!" Ginny is beaming beside you. "Did Ron tell you?"

You nod and smile back. "Yes, he did." You cast a quick _Muffliato_so the nosy Gryffindor girls won't hear the rest of your conversation. "Where do you think we should meet them?"

"Hmm… they're sure to be mauled the moment they get here, aren't they. What about the library? Nobody will be in the library on the Saturday afternoon of the Feast."

"Brilliant. How about our study table?"

"Perfect! Oh Merlin, I'm excited!" Ginny is flushed, but she looks beautiful. She is glowing. "I can't believe it's been two months since we've seen them… I miss Harry so much. Just hugging him, you know?"

You nod. "I know," you say. And you do. You miss the smell of Ron's hair, the feel of his arms around your waist, the way he buries his nose into your neck when he holds you. And you can't help but wonder if you'll be able to be truly alone, to make love. You feel yourself blush as you think about it, but you're smiling. You _Finite_ the _Muffliato_and pull some parchment and a quill from your bag.

_Dear Ron,  
I am so excited to see you! Ginny and I will meet you and Harry in the library (it should be quite deserted; and it was Ginny's idea to meet there, I promise!) after lunch on Saturday. We will be at a table near the Restricted Section.  
I miss you  
Love Hermione_

* * *

That afternoon in double Potions, it finally happens. In a way you are surprised it took so long, however you had hoped, in vain, that it would not. You had hoped that no one would feel that way toward Snape after all he did, but you also knew that was foolish.

It begins with a gasp. The class (yourself included), all brewing at separate stations, looks to the sound in unison.

It is a Slytherin girl. Her face is white, and she is staring, open mouthed, at the blackboard at the front of the room.

You follow her gaze. Everyone else follows her gaze. And there is silence.

On the board, replacing Snape's instructions for the day's brewing, is one oversize word.

MURDERER

Your heart sinks into your stomach as all eyes in the classroom turn to Snape. All the excitement, anticipation you felt earlier hearing of Ron and Harry's visit disappears, and what is left is a deep ache in your chest, a knot in your gut. _No, no, no, _you think,_ this cannot be happening… no, no, no…_

Snape is standing at the front of the room, facing the board. You can't see his face, but you see his hands in fists, the right one holding his wand so tight, you are surprised it doesn't snap. You hold your breath, waiting for him to respond. Your heart is pounding, you feel sick. Your potion is forgotten. The whole room is silent, frighteningly so. The only sound is the bubbling of everyone's forgotten cauldrons.

When he finally does speak, his voice is so slow, so quiet, so eerily calm, that you have to strain to hear him, and when you do, it sends chills down your spine.

"When I find out who did this, they will be expelled."

He turns around, facing the class. His skin looks even more unhealthy than usual, the colour of sour milk. It has a sickly sheen to it, as though he is sweating. He is sneering in a way that is so alarming, you have to stop yourself from backing away.

"Get. Out."

You scramble for your possessions along with the rest of the class and leave the room as fast as possible. You are shaking. Your eyes burn. Your mind is repeating _No, no, no…_ but you know you must leave.

Outside the room, you take Ginny's hand and the two of you rush to the library in silence, to your usual table. Once there, you let a few tears fall. Ginny puts her arms around you.

"It's okay, Hermione," she whispers. "It's going to be okay."

"It's not fair," you whisper back.

"I know, it's not," she says, and lets you go.

"He doesn't deserve that."

"No, he doesn't. But not everybody believes that, you know. And he'll be fine. You know he will."

You nod, although you're not so sure.

You can tell Ginny wants to say something more, but she is holding back. You don't want to know what she wants to say. You have a feeling her brother has said it all already.

_Why do you care so much?_

After a while, apparently deciding not to bring it up and instead go down the rabbit hole with you, she asks, "Do you suppose we should go see McGonagall?"

You shrug. "Maybe. I didn't see anyone do anything in the classroom, though, did you?"

"No, I was too busy concentrating on not blowing the place up. Merlin, I don't like Potions."

You have to smile. "I'm not sure we'll be of much help, then."

"True…" She pauses for a moment. "But I was just thinking, Snape doesn't seem like the type of bloke to tell McGonagall right away. And what if this is serious? What if it's a warning? What if someone wants to hurt him?"

You feel sick with that thought. Suddenly you realize how perfect Harry and Ginny really are together; she is starting to sound just like him, starting to get involved in things that Snape certainly wouldn't want her to.

But now you don't try to talk her out of it like you would Harry. Because now, you know so much more.

"All right," you say. "Let's go then. It can't do any harm."

You make your way to the Headmistress's office, hearing students buzzing about the Potions incident on the way. There are whispers everywhere, everyone seeming shocked, gossiping about who they think would dare cross your Potions Master.

Once you are past the Gargoyle (the Headmistress gave you the password at the beginning of the school year in case you should need anything; preferential treatment, yes, but you are grateful for it now), it is apparent the Headmistress already knows what you mean to tell her.

Snape is there.

"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley," McGonagall says, nodding to you both, although not smiling. "Is it urgent?"

You immediately look at Snape. He is standing in front of McGonagall's desk, looking at you, a thunderous expression on his face.

"No, Headmistress," you say quietly, averting your gaze from Snape. "We're sorry, we can go - "

"I will keep you updated then, Headmistress," Snape says suddenly, as if you weren't there and hadn't spoken.

"Yes of course, Severus," she says, and you can tell she is worried. With a small nod, Snape turns on his heel and leaves the office, McGonagall's concerned eyes following him.

Once he is gone she turns her attention to you and Ginny.

"Well girls, how can I help you? I presume you are here due to the incident in your Potions class?"

"Yes," Ginny nods. McGonagall offers you two seats and you take them as she sits behind her desk. "We were worried… We weren't sure if Professor Snape would see you right away, and we thought perhaps there was some danger…"

McGonagall smiles then. "That's very kind of you girls, but I assure you Professor Snape can take care of this. We will be interviewing all the students in the class." She sighs, then, and her smile fades. "This is very serious, girls, so if you have any information at all…"

You both shake your heads. "Sorry but we don't," you say. "We were working. I heard a Slytherin girl, Daisy I think, gasp, and then I saw the board."

"Myself as well," Ginny said. "Except I looked up when Hermione looked up."

McGonagall nods. "Well thank you girls. Please let me know if you hear anything. And don't worry about Professor Snape." She looks at you then, and you blush, wondering if she knows about you visits to see him in St. Mungo's. "We have every reason to believe this was nothing more than a callous jab at Professor Snape's history. As cruel and unacceptable as that is, I don't believe it is more sinister. And with the past…" her voice trails off and she shakes her head sadly. "Not everyone is happy he is here. But I will not tolerate any of my staff being treated this way."

Ginny and the Headmistress begin talking about Ron and Harry's upcoming visit then, but you are only partially listening. Your eyes find Dumbledore's portrait. He winks at you. You blush, again, and wonder what Snape feels when he looks into those eyes.

That night you lie in your bed with the drapes closed tightly, sleep a million miles away, and you think of Snape. You wonder what he's doing, if he's lonely, if he's angry, if he's hurt. You certainly are. You wonder how someone could be so content being alone. You wonder if he is, in fact, content that way. You wonder if he ever had a choice, if he has one now.

You know he would hate you thinking of him this way. You should stop. You are dangerously close to being that thing you didn't want to be… a silly schoolgirl who fancies her professor.

But you don't fancy him. You don't.

And yet you know there is something more to him. You know there is. You have for so long now… how can you stop?

* * *

No one knows how Snape survived.

The Healers had taken the statis charm off of him in mid August, just for a moment, to administer a powerful anti-venom. At that point, it was their only hope. They had studied him in depth, and they believed there was little chance the venom would allow them even two minutes before it killed him.

But just as they lifted the statis, Snape woke up. His eyes opened. He breathed on his own. And his voice, though raspy, worked. They gave him the anti-venom. He asked for water. They gave it to him. He recovered.

It didn't take long, either. He was only in St. Mungo's for a week after that, and then he discharged himself (he wouldn't take any visitors during that week, although you knew he wouldn't want to see you, so you didn't even try). When you read in the Daily Prophet that he had left the hospital and was home, you asked Harry to take you there, just so you could confirm Snape was all right. But he wouldn't.

Harry, respecting Snape's privacy. You were not the only one that changed after the war.

It was only a matter of days, however, until you heard he would be returning to Hogwarts. It was all over the Prophet (which you read religiously for any sign of news of him). You were staying at the Burrow, sharing Ron's room (a couple of your best spells and Molly was none the wiser). At night when you couldn't sleep, you would listen to Ron lightly snoring beside you, his arms tight around your chest, his body spooned against yours, and wonder what it was that made Snape return to Hogwarts. What could have possibly made him return to the place that held more painful memories for him than you could even fathom?

And by what miracle did he survive to return?

Harry had told you about his experience at King's Cross with Dumbledore. Before that, you had never believed in near death experiences (as Muggles called them). It was simply too unscientific, too unbelievable, too hopeful. And that skeptical part of you didn't completely believe that Harry truly spoke to Dumbledore, either; it could have been imagined, a way for his unconscious to come to terms with the situation he was in.

But in your heart, you knew he was speaking the truth, that he had spoken with his mentor. If magic had taught you anything, it was that the unbelievable, the unscientific, was incredibly possible.

So if Harry was able to choose his fate, to give up or to fight, was Snape given that same choice? Was that why he woke immediately once the statis was removed? And if so, who did he speak to? Dumbledore? Lily?

In bed, listening to Ron's breathing, the comforting creaks of the Burrow's floorboards settling, and Crookshanks purring at the foot of the bed, something in your belly would sink every time you thought of her name. Something that knew that kind of love would never be known to you. Something that longed to know that side of Snape; not the snarky, unfair teacher, but the heartbroken man. For your heart was broken too. You were not lovesick, but you were not complete. You were still too skinny, still angry, still hurting. Missing your parents. Mourning with the Weasleys. Mourning with Harry.

Snape had been mourning for twenty years. Surely he would understand?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR. I just love the world she's created, and I want to get a little crazy with it.

Chapter Nine

You have Potions the next morning. You are understandably apprehensive.

When you and Ginny arrive, the door to the classroom is closed. Some of the other N.E.W.T. students are already waiting, looking equally uneasy. You are all silent. As the rest of your classmates appear, your anxiety deepens. You wonder if he will show up at all. You wonder if he decided to leave… his post was meant to be temporary anyway, perhaps he decided to sever his term even earlier. You heart sinks at the thought.

But no. You realize that would be taking the easy way out. And if Snape isn't anything, it's a coward.

Finally, only one minute to the beginning of class, the door opens. As you walk in, you see Snape at his desk, sitting with his arms crossed against his chest, surveying every student as they walk in. You can't help but notice he does not look at you.

As you sit down, you hear his low command. "Do not. Open. Your books."

After a few moments of silence, during which the whole class's discomfort is evident, Snape finally speaks. "As your last class was adjourned early, you all received a zero for your work. Today you will be attempting to brew that same potion again. I imagine your scores will not be much better, but let's get on with this farce anyway, shall we?" He waves his hand at the board and the instructions appear for the potion, same as they did last class.

You are surprised. That's it? No interrogation? No lecture?

You are about to get up and get your ingredients when Snape's voice suddenly stops you. "However," he says sharply, "if anything were to happen, anything at all, rest assured the perpetrator will pray for expulsion after I am done with them."

That's more like it.

* * *

The rest of the week goes by fairly uneventfully. It doesn't take long for the buzz around Hogwarts to turn from your Potion Master's humiliation (especially since there has been no leads or further incidents) to the Hallowe'en Feast again. The fifth, sixth, and seventh years are particularly pleased about the dance after the memorial service.

The excitement is, in a way, contagious. After the Headmistress announces a Wednesday afternoon Hogsmeade trip for dress and robe shopping, Ginny completely lights up. Although dress shopping was never your favourite activity, you enjoy the afternoon away from the Castle immensely, especially when you visit George at his shop. Having heard about the Feast's celebration from Ron, he jokingly gives you and Ginny gratis love potions ("not that you'll need it, eh ladies?") and then provides you with an extra large tub of Sleakeazy's, which you are much more grateful for than you would care to admit. Although your hair has calmed down somewhat throughout the years, you still need quite a large amount of that stuff to make it look halfway decent with fancy dress.

You are even excited about the dress you purchased. It is a dark navy, silk, with a plunging neckline that Ginny had to practically beg you to go for. But it is still classy, and understated, so you are quite sure Ginny is right when she tells you you are too much of a prude (besides, you are still too thin from your months without adequate nutrition, so there isn't much to see anyway, you reason). The dress falls just above your knees, and flows out gently. That detail reminds you of your Yule Ball dress, the way it twirled when Viktor Krum spun you around on the dance floor. It feels just as light as that dress did, just as good when you wear it. You feel beautiful; something you don't feel very often.

But the calm of the week, the lack of follow-up after the cruel prank played on Snape, leaves you feeling wary. You wonder how it will impact his presence in the castle. Obviously he did not abandon his temporary teaching position, but you can't help but feel that perhaps he will demand the Headmistress find a replacement even sooner.

And what of the Memorial Service and dance? Will he even attend? You wonder if he feels embarrassed, ashamed, that he survived when so many didn't (like you feel sometimes). You hope he doesn't, but you can't know what he's thinking. You hope he doesn't, but you can't know what he is thinking. You hope he will attend the service, allow the Minister (who will be there to begin the memorial) to shake his hand and to acknowledge his sacrifices.

Perhaps allow you to show him in person, finally, that you are so very, very grateful, and so very, very sorry.

* * *

Your Friday lessons go by in a haze; you are looking forward to Ron and Harry's visit more and more. Throughout each lesson Ginny keeps passing you notes, things like "do you think we'll get any time alone?" and "do you think Harry would like me in the green dress or the red dress?" She is giddy and light-hearted in a way she hasn't been in months, so although you normally find girl talk excruciating (especially during lessons), this time you enjoy it. And your mind wandering, wondering if Ron will like you in navy blue, if you'll get to be alone with him, if you'll be able to peel his clothes off, layer by layer, the way you did in his bedroom in the Burrow, whispering in his ear as he turns into a puddle before you. You blush and smile to yourself, hoping you will have that chance. You miss his body pressing against yours. You miss his skin against your skin. You miss his lips.

But your thoughts are drawn back to Snape during your Potions class that afternoon, as you wonder again whether he will attend the next day's festivities. You would not feel right celebrating, remembering, without him there. After what he did, he needs to be there. It means so much to you, you know it would mean so much to Harry… he has to be there.

And you decide you have to find if he will be. At the end of class, after Snape dismisses everyone, you and Ginny gather your things. "You go ahead," you say to your friend quietly. "I have to speak to Professor Snape about our next essay."

She smiles and nods. You hope she believes you; you don't want her telling Ron (he would ask questions, and worry like he used to, and you don't want that). She soon leaves the classroom along with the other students. You take a deep breath and look up to the front of the room. Snape is sitting at his desk, writing labels on the class's potions of the day.

After a moment of silence, his voice snakes through the room towards you, low as always. "What is it, Miss Granger? It is Friday afternoon. Surely you realize I have better things to do with my weekend than stay in this classroom."

You blush. "Yes Sir. I just... I was wondering... will you be attending the Memorial Service tomorrow?"

He doesn't look up. "I don't see how that is your concern... nor is it relevant to your Potions studies."

"No, it isn't," you admit. "I was just wondering." You take a deep breath. What you want to say next will take all your Gryffindor nerve. "I... I was hoping you would be there."

He looks up, then, but doesn't say anything. His eyes are narrowed.

The silence in the room is uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to break it. You want to hear what he will say.

It takes a while, but finally he says, with a sarcastic drawl, "And why would you be hoping that?"

"Because," you say. "You should be there. I want to see you there."

He looks at you curiously through the curtains of his hair. "I seem to recall telling you not too long ago to not pry into the personal lives of professors, Miss Granger."

"I am not prying. And I mean no disrespect." You see him opening his mouth to retaliate but you hold up your hand (what nerve you have, all of the sudden). "No, Sir. Please don't say anything. I just want you there. Please."

And with that, in a very Snape-like move, you turn on your heel and leave the class before he can say anything, take away any House points, or give you another detention. You are shaking as you walk to the Gryffindor Common Room. You can't believe your audacity. But you are heartened by it as well; for you feel like, in a way, this is part of you that was missing. A part of you that has returned.

Cheek in the face of injustice.

* * *

Author's Note: Please consider reviewing, it would mean a lot. Thank you for all the alerts, favourites, and reviews, and I will get back to all of those who have reviewed as soon as I can! Your feedback means SO much everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Had to split this chapter into two, the Snape stuff is coming up in chapter 11 (which is almost done!). Sorry for the delay in posting and review/message responses as per usual, life sure gets in the way of fanfiction sometimes…

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Saturday arrives. You and Ginny rush to the library as soon as lunch is over, doing your best to not attract attention. Luckily Ginny was right, it is practically deserted. You see only two students, both quite a bit younger and clearly too preoccupied with their work to even notice you. You silently thank your good luck, but still, as soon as the Restricted Section is in sight, even before you see Ron or Harry, you cast a quick Silencing Charm around the area.

Ginny is practically running, you have to pick up your pace to keep up with her. You are about to roll your eyes and tell her to slow down before she trips over something when you see Harry. You see his dark hair first, emerging from the invisibility cloak. He fixes his glasses, turns to you and Ginny, and grins.

And then you see a second person emerge (seemingly) from nothing. Red hair. Bigger, taller than Harry.

Ron.

He turns to you and his face lights up. And suddenly, you feel it. You are safe. You are home. He smiles at you, so big, so brightly. You run to him, vaguely aware of Ginny running beside you, not in front of you anymore. You leap into Ron's arms as Ginny leaps into Harry's.

He smells like you remember; toothpaste, grass, shampoo. He smells clean, and safe.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he mutters into your ear. "You about knocked me over!"

You laugh and let him go. "Sorry," you smile.

You turn to Harry then, who has let go of Ginny, and you hug him hard.

"So good to see you Hermione," he says softly as you part.

"You too, Harry," you smile as you do your best to keep the tears stinging the back of your eyes at bay. After so many months alone, so long away from anyone else, especially after Ron left, you value Harry as a friend more than you can express. Your heart swells as he runs his hand through his hair and you give him a playful push before you return to Ron's side. Ron kisses your cheek gently and you feel a familiar warmth spread through your chest down to your belly.

Ginny is holding Harry's hand, grinning from ear to ear. "So where has McGonagall put you up? Staying in the boys' dorms for old times' sake?"

You almost roll your eyes at Ginny's lack of subtlety.

"The Gryffindor guest rooms ," Ron says to you, ignoring Ginny and Harry's soppy looks with a sufficient amount of discomfort. You take his hand and squeeze it gently.

"They haven't been used in so long, McGonagall had to spruce them up quite a bit. To make us feel at home she made them look just like the boys' dorms. It was some pretty impressive Transfiguration, actually, we watched her work," Harry says, smiling at you (knowing you would appreciate it, of course, and, of course, you must admit you would like to ask the Headmistress more about it later).

"Where are they?" you ask.

"The sixth floor," Harry says.

"That's all settled then," Ginny says brightly. "Well we don't want to hang around here all day, do we? Hermione and I thought we could all go to Hogsmeade and catch up. Fancy a butterbeer?"

Both Harry and Ron grimace. "Have any Polyjuice handy?" Ron mutters. "We were nearly mauled by Firsties when we arrived."

"I'd be more than happy to brew some, but as you may remember, it takes a while," you smile.

"We could nick some out of Snape's cupboard?" Ron suggests.

There is an awkward silence.

"I think the cloak will be fine, mate," Harry says after a moment, quietly, but smiling. "Ron and I will follow you two underneath it," he says to Ginny.

You and Ginny nod and watch as Harry and Ron disappear under the cloak. The air is still heavy with tension as you take down your Silencing charm and exit the library. Snape is like a shadow, a constant presence hanging over your thoughts, Harry's thoughts, Ron's thoughts. You know Harry can't forget what he did for his mum, what his father did to him. You can't forget what he did for all of you, how much he suffered. And Ron can't forget that Snape had been the one on the forefront of your mind all summer.

But you ignore your thoughts, for now, because Ron is here. You love Ron, very much. And you want your thoughts, your head, your heart, to be with him and him only, because that's what he deserves from you, what you know you must give him.

* * *

Hogsmeade is a disaster. Harry and Ron foolishly took off the Invisibility Cloak after leaving the school grounds, and the moment you enter the town people recognize the Golden Trio and are swarming you. By the time you make your way through the quickly forming crowd, as politely as possible, and find a table at the Hog's Head, Rita Skeeter has shown up.

You hate that woman. You feel your face grow hot at the sight of her. You know your hair will be getting (more) out of control soon… its known to crackle and spark when you are truly angry, and if anyone can get you there, you know Skeeter can.

"The Golden Trio," she says, sauntering over to your table with a horrific smile on her face, her Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling beside her. "And Harry Potter, with Ginny Weasley. Is it serious, then, Harry?" She looks at Ginny's left hand, which is holding Harry's right. "No ring, I see. Can't be that serious, then. You must have your pick of the witches around the Ministry, am I right Harry?"

You look at Ginny. She is almost as red as her hair. Harry looks as though he may start throwing hexes at any moment.

"What about Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley?" Skeeter continues, ignoring Harry and Ginny's reactions. "Have the pressures of being apart this year caused any strain on this sweet new relationship? And what about your Headmaster-come-Potions Master, Miss Granger? You were known to have visited him quite frequently in the hospital. Have you two become better acquainted now that he has recovered?" She looks at you with pure venom in her eyes, disguised as journalistic interest. So she hates you as much as you hate her, it seems. Serves her right for being an unregistered animagus. Your only regret is that you didn't keep her locked up in her beetle form longer, without food, in that jar a few years ago.

"Or," Skeeter continues, a horrific grin on her face, "has Severus Snape rejected your naive misguided attentions?"

You feel not only your face but your neck get hot. Your right hand is clutching your wand as tight as possible. You feel your hair ballooning around your head with static. You can't hold your tongue, you feel as though you'll explode if you do.

"Shut up you horrible woman!"

You feel the entire pub staring at you.

"Really, Miss Granger," Skeeter huffs, though she looks rather pleased with herself, Quill writing like mad, "I would expect –"

But before her stupid red mouth can say anything else, she is interrupted. "Out, Skeeter. You're not welcome here if you'll be harassing my patrons."

Aberforth Dumbledore. He is standing, menacingly close to Rita, looking intimidating. Rita looks at him, _humphs_ slightly, and turns back to your table. "We'll have another chat soon, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and _Miss_ Granger. Rest assured the public wants to know what the Golden Trio is doing now, and it is my responsibility to give them their information." And then she looks at you, her horrible eyes burning into yours. "And, Miss Granger, they will most certainly want to know if Gryffindor's Golden Girl is becoming friendly with the murderer of Albus Dumbledore." She looks at Aberforth pointedly then storms out, her heels clacking against the ground dramatically.

Harry sighs. "Thanks Aberforth, I owe you one. Again."

You are furious and embarrassed, but thankfully after Aberforth brings your table a round of drinks he makes sure you are left alone for the rest of your time there. The four of you chat, moving on from the black cloud that is Rita Skeeter. Ron and Harry regale you and Ginny with tales of their exhaustive Auror training, but before long they are talking Quidditch with Ginny, and you are left to ruminate on Skeeter's words.

How many people still see Snape as a murderer? Clearly at least one person at Hogwarts (the still uncaught Potions class pranker), Skeeter, and therefore most likely her brain-dead loyal reader-minions as well. Suddenly you are worried, not only that Snape will not show at the Memorial that night, but also for his safety if he does.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Guess what, I'm not dead! SO sorry for the delay everyone, thank you SO much for your reviews and all the alerts! I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you all. I'm applying to grad school and unfortunately that's taken up a lot of my time (not to mention renovating my house). Hope you enjoy the chapter. It's a bit of a transition chapter, so it is lacking on the action. But I'm halfway done the next one so I hope it will be up soon. And for those of you who hate Ron, I'm sorry. But this IS a SS/HG story so be patient with me! :)

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

After you finish your drinks, you all walk back to the castle (Harry and Ron, having learned their lesson, under the cloak this time). Ron, showing his newfound gift of insight (and surprising you with it, as usual), seems to be able to tell you are still under the weather after the visit from Skeeter. He does his best to lighten the mood by charming Ginny's hat to fly from her head repeatedly, much to her annoyance. After the second time, you and Harry are laughing out loud as Ginny furiously tries to find her invisible brother to swat him. And you are reminded, once again, why you love Ron so much.

Once you reach the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry and Ron remove the cloak. Ron smiles shyly at you.

"Almost time for the Feast," he says quietly. "I'll see you soon?"

You smile back and nod. "Of course."

You are vaguely aware of Harry and Ginny's intimate embrace not four feet away, and you can't help but be uncomfortable. You and Ron hug and as you do, he kisses your cheek. It's chaste compared to what your friends are doing, but you blush anyway. As the boys leave and you and Ginny enter the Gryffindor Common Room, you feel your face is still hot, and you pray Ginny doesn't notice.

* * *

You've known for a while that you're nothing like Ginny; it has been obvious for years. Ginny is, in many ways, your opposite, like Lily Evans in fact. She is popular with both witches and wizards, friendly, gregarious, vivacious, sporty. And she is open in ways you can't be. You can't open up, be comfortable, the way Ginny can with affection or… sex. You even have a hard time saying the word. You can't imagine doing what Harry and Ginny do in public… you're barely comfortable with a hug and kiss in the school corridors.

You love Ron, and you love sex with Ron, but your first time together was your first time. You hadn't been together long. The only experience you had before was from your summer visit with Viktor (doing everything you could with your top still on) and the few weeks with Ron (doing everything you could with your trousers still on). And then, one night in his bedroom at the Burrow, after you'd snuck in, cast concealment and silencing charms, holding Ron in his bed, kissing him, it just felt right.

And it hurt. A lot. But Ron was so gentle… the way he kissed the tears off your cheeks, whispered in your ear… and soon the pain was gone, and you felt something stir in you, something just out of reach… something frightening and unreal.

But you didn't orgasm. And you never have. Not with Ron, anyway. The only orgasms you've had are your own, ones found in the dark of your bedroom or canopy bed in your dorm. They were all right, yes, but more than anything, they were just a way to help yourself sleep.

But that feeling you've read about, heard about… that feeling that had the Gryffindor girls giggling and whispering about since your fourth year… you've never had that. Never with anyone, near anyone, in front of anyone.

Ron didn't know. Still doesn't, you assume. You couldn't, _can__'__t_bring yourself to tell him. Once you started making love you quickly realized it was taking too long for him to get you there, and you gave up, really. It was almost instinct that you started making the sounds, the sighs, the soft moans that you could tell he was expecting, and once you'd started making them, you couldn't stop, could you?

Faking it, they call it. You hate that. It sounds so… dishonest. And you know you won't have to do it for long, it's just temporary. You know will have an orgasm with Ron. Eventually, you will arch the right way, guide him slightly, use your hands… eventually it will happen.

But it doesn't matter to you, not that much anyway, for you discovered quickly you gained great pleasure in something else… the power you suddenly had over your boyfriend after you had sex for the first time. And that was in itself just as rewarding as any orgasm you'd ever had. For suddenly, you had the ability to drive him crazy. Your lips, your hands, your fingers… they could tease him, tantalize him in ways that drove him mad. And you reveled, _revel_, in that power. It is addictive to make him weak at the knees, liquid with want and need. To show him your love by giving him everything you can. Doing things you remember thinking were repulsive when you were younger. But those actions themselves are addictive too. And you find you like doing them, love doing them even. And so you are not bothered that Ron has stopped reciprocating as often, because it is tiring, so tiring to pretend. You would so much rather give.

But still, the doubt creeps up on you sometimes… is there something wrong with you? You've read about it, of course. You've read that many women have the same problem.

But sometimes, when Ron holds you after sex and you have time to think, or when you see Harry and Ginny together, you can't help it. And the reassuring books don't make you wonder any less, or feel any less… inadequate. Broken.

* * *

In your dorm room, Ginny helps you get ready. You use a copious amount of Sleakeazy's in your hair and a glamour on your chest, neck, and arms to conceal your scars. After gliding into her backless emerald dress, Ginny helps you slip in your slinky outfit with a handy charm and smiles at you. "You look stunning, but you really should leave those scars alone, Hermione. They make you look so devil-may-care."

You smile back. "We'll see how the night goes," you say. But you know you won't _Finite_the glamours tonight. Tonight is not about you, and the scars make people stare. Normally you use muggle makeup on your neck, hiding the thin pink scar that Bellatrix Lestrange's knife graced you with, but tonight you don't want to get makeup on your dress; a glamour will hold better. You trust your magic more than your makeup skills.

"You're good at those charms," Ginny says, looking at your chest and arms. "There's barely any shimmer there. Want to take care of mine?" She turns around and lifts up her long hair, revealing a long dark scar running down her pale back.

You just manage to hold back a gasp. "Ginny," you whisper. "I never noticed…"

She shrugs, and the scar moves with her shoulders. She turns around and faces you. "It's nothing, really. Just from a detention in the Forbidden Forest last year." She laughs. "It's funny, now that I think about it. We thought Snape was such a bloody bastard, and then he gives us detention with Hagrid, our most obvious ally. How did we not see it?"

She shakes her head and turns back around, holding her hair out of the way as you begin to work. "I guess it wasn't completely harmless, though. There were Dementors in the Forest that night… Weren't supposed to be there of course, but when have they ever listened to orders before? Anyway I was so surprised, suddenly Neville was yelling, and I fell on the rocks before I could cast my Patronus. Right on my behind. Luckily Neville was surprisingly more coordinated, or I'd be toast. Quite embarrassing but funny in retrospect, really."

You smile as you finish the glamours on her back. "As embarrassing as turning yourself into Melissa Bulstrode's cat?"

Ginny laughs. "Perhaps not." She takes a peek at her back in the full-length mirror. "Wow, great work Hermione! You really are brilliant. Can you take care of my legs?" She lifts up her dress slightly, revealing more scars on her knees and thighs.

"The Forbidden Forest?" you ask quietly.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. "The battle," she answers, softly, like you. As you begin to work on her legs, she changes the subject. "So… you think Snape will be there tonight?"

"I really don't know," you say honestly. "I presume he's required to attend dinner, as a member of the faculty, but I just don't see him wanting to stay for the memorial."

"He _is_ proud," she agrees. You finish the glamours and she turns to you. "All right. Now it's time for your makeup."

You put your wand in the décolleté of your dress. "I don't know, Ginny…" You don't feel comfortable wearing makeup, never have, and beside Ginny's radiant complexion, you will feel like a wilted flower, like the Queen of Hearts' painted red roses, like an imposter.

"Come on, just a little. Just to bring out your eyes. Please Hermione? You helped with my glamours, let me help you with this."

Knowing you can't win this argument, you let Ginny take over, and when she is done, you are surprised at your reflection in the mirror. You look nice. Pretty, even… For you, anyway. Your body is slim (still too slim, you think), but the low neckline and flared skirt of dress give you curves where you don't have them. Your eyes are lined lightly, making them look bigger, you have a light pink lip gloss on, and your eyelashes look so long you swear they could touch your eyebrows. You feel like you did at the Yule Ball again, even for just a moment… carefree, beautiful… like there are endless possibilities that the night can bring.

"Thanks Ginny," you say to your friend.

She gives you a bright smile and a hug that surprises you. "You look beautiful," she says. "Now come on, let's go wow our boyfriends."

And with that, you grab your clutches, and Ginny grabs your hand, and you head into the Gryffindor Common Room, ready for whatever the night will bring.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: This chapter isn't completely edited, so I may replace it with an edited version later, but I figured since you've all been so patient with me, here's something extra for now :)  
Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out I wrote "Melissa" instead of "Millicent" Bulstrode in the last chapter. My fault, typing error!  
Please note this story is rated M for a reason. It will be earnings its rating from this chapter on, so mature readers only please. Sorry no lemons quite yet, but they're on their way.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Ron and Harry are waiting for you outside the Gryffindor Common Room. When you swing open the portrait door, the first thing you see is Ron. He is watching you, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks and ears, smiling.

You smile back at your boyfriend, knowing you are blushing as well. He takes your hand and whispers, "you look beautiful," in your ear. You feel yourself flush even more, but it isn't an unpleasant feeling; as Ron's warm hand encloses yours, he lightly brushes his pinky against your palm, and you feel your belly somersault.

The Great Hall is decorated magnificently. There are streamers hanging from every sconce, pumpkins that throw sweets to students walking by, charmed bats flying around the charmed ceiling, which looks dark and spooky above orange and black floating candles. The House ghosts greet every student as they enter the hall, showing them to their seats.

Instead of the four House tables, there are dozens of circular tables decorated with orange and black linens. Nearly Headless Nick proudly leads the four of you to a table at the front of the Hall, where you see Neville and Luna already seated. On the way, you instinctively look toward the Head Table. It is larger than normal, having been elongated to accommodate Kingsley (the new Minister for Magic), and a few other faces you recognize as Ministry executives of sorts. But you are relieved when you see Snape seated in his usual place, beside Headmistress McGonagall. You feel less apprehensive about the whole night, although there is worry still nagging at the back of your mind.

You only have a few moments to catch up with Neville and Luna before the Headmistress begins addressing the Hall. "Your attention, please. Thank you all for coming. This Hallowe'en Feast is truly a special one. Today we are joined by our esteemed Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt." She pauses for the applause that thunders through the room. You look at Snape, who is clapping in his usual disinterested manner. "Before we begin the feast," she continues, "I would like to say a few brief words about tonight's events. After the meal, we will pause for a few minutes before we begin the Memorial Service. Although this is a time to celebrate, it is also a time to mourn those who we have lost; those who have sacrificed everything so we could be here as free witches and wizards."

McGonagall pauses for more applause. "And although this is a solemn time to remember," she continues, "it is also a time to rejoice and commemorate the free lives that we are now able to lead. After the Service, the older students and the guests of Hogwarts are invited to stay for a celebratory dance."

At that, a few overzealous seventh years make whoop-ing sounds. Ron, Harry, and Ginny chuckle. You look at Snape. His expression is as impassive as ever. McGonagall doesn't look overly impressed either, although you think to yourself with a smile that she never really does. "All right, all right, she says. "Without any further adieu then, let the Feast begin."

The Feast is even more spectacular than any of the others you have attended at Hogwarts. The conversation at your table is free flowing and light-hearted. It seems as though your friends have decided to leave their mourning for later, and you can't blame them. To be together again, safe and free, is miraculous, when you think about all the things the six of you fought through in the past year.

But you find your mind wandering, and it doesn't take long for you to realize it's because you are frightened. The worry in the back of your mind has grown, and as the night goes on, you are actually _frightened_ that Snape is going to leave before the memorial. Frightened he will do so so quietly, you won't notice. Frightened he will not be honoured.

And so you find your eyes drifting to the Head Table frequently, watching Snape as he converses with McGonagall and Kingsley, as he picks at his food, as he stares to the back of the room, at nothing in particular. And your mind cannot stay with your own table or the conversation there for long, for every few moments, you feel a tugging need to check that Snape hasn't moved.

After pudding, as the dishes are being cleared, you feel a hand on your leg. Startled, you turn quickly, only to be met by Ron's worried gaze. But before he can say anything, the candles in the hall dim, and you realize the memorial service is set to start. With a jolt, you turn to the Head Table.

Snape is gone.

Your eyes catch movement to the left, and you look just in time to see Snape slip down the side of the Hall and out the doors. You panic. He cannot leave. Without thinking you say, "I'll be back in a minute," to Ron and get out of your chair. You hurriedly walk out of the Hall, the best you can in your heels, and just catch Snape's robes following him around a corner.

He is heading toward the dungeons. You know he is.

He moves quickly and quietly; you cast a silencing charm on your shoes (despite being far behind him, you know he would pick up even the minutest of sounds). He moves swiftly in the shadows, his robes billowing, around corners, down steps, until finally you can no longer see him. Your heart pounding, you round the last corner you saw him turn, and almost run right into his torso.

"Miss Granger," he hisses. "What. Are. You. Doing."

You are out of breath. "Professor… I'm sorry, Sir. I just… Why are you leaving?"

"That is none of your concern."

He doesn't tell you to leave. He simply glares at you while you catch your breath. You notice his eyes fall on your right shoulder. To the tell-tale shimmering on your skin. To the charm that has, by now, begun to fade.

"It's a glamour," you say. He looks at your face sharply, not pleased he has been caught looking, you assume. You pull your wand from the décolleté of your dress and _Finite_the spell.

He doesn't look right away. Instead his eyes stay on your face until you give him a watery half smile, as an invitation. Only then does he lower his gaze to your shoulder. Then your neck. Then your chest. Then your arms. Your feel your face grow hot under the scrutiny of your body.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," you say quietly, by way of explanation. "And Dolohov. Fenrir Greyback and a couple of Snatchers as well."

He immediately looks at your face again once you say Bellatrix's name. His expression is unfathomable as ever, but you detect a curiousity in it that you've rarely seen. He doesn't say anything, so you smile weakly again and shrug. "The Cruciatis and… other things," you say softly.

For a moment the air is heavy around you. "Is that all?" he says after a while, his voice low. You can't tell if he means it as an insult (a hint that it is time for you to shut up), or if he is asking if that is the only torture you had to endure.

You flinch, recalling the horrific pain in your chest in the Department of Mysteries… the rough, filthy hands of the Snatchers… the rancid breath of Greyback… and worst of all, the taunting voice of Bellatrix Lestrange as she tortured you in every manner possible until your ears rang and your vision weakened and you knew no more.

You shake your head as an answer to both questions. You look into his eyes. He scowls.

"What are you doing here, Miss Granger? I told you your pity is –"

You laugh, an exasperated laugh, then, interrupting him. "This isn't pity, Professor."

"Then what is it?" he hisses.

And that is the million pound question, isn't it? What is this?

"I don't know, Sir," you say. "Does it have to be anything? Can't it just be what it is?"

"What it is, Miss Granger, is inappropriate," he says. But he does not leave.

"It isn't," you whisper, stepping closer to him.

And then you do something you never thought you would do.

You touch him.

You do it quickly, maybe because you know subconsciously he will pull away sooner rather than later. You reach out with your hand and you touch his left arm. You can't feel the heat of his skin through his robes. You can't feel if it is soft or not. You can't even feel how skinny he is. You just feel, as best you can, resting your palm against him.

The heat from your face spreads through your body, travels down your arms, heats the thick fabric of his garment. But it doesn't stop there… that tingling heat, those warm butterflies, are pooling in your belly. And suddenly you can barely breathe.

You are wet.

And Snape is not pulling away.

"Miss Granger," he says quietly, hoarsely. "What are you doing?"

You don't know how to answer.

Suddenly a loud voice pierces the quiet of the empty halls. "Hermione!"

You spin around, your hand leaving Snape's arm. Ron is walking quickly toward you. You know he can't see Snape from where he is. You are about to tell Snape you have to go, but when you turn back around, he is gone. Your heart sinks. _No,__no,__no__…_

Ron reaches you just then. "There you are, I was worried," he says, and puts his arm around your waist. "You all right?"

You smile at him, and you hope he doesn't notice it is only half-heartedly. You hope he doesn't notice the flush in your face, or the heat in your body. You hope he can't smell you. You want to look behind you, down the dungeon steps, but you don't. "Yes of course," you say to Ron. "I just needed to get away for a minute... get some air."

He looks at you strangely. "In the dungeons?"

You shrug nervously. "I just..."

He shakes his head. "Never mind. I know. Hermione..." he seems to be searching for the right words. "I'm... worried..."

"Don't be silly Ron, I'm fine," you smile, broader this time, hoping to convince him, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. "Let's get back to the ceremony, yeah?"

You lead him by the hand, the same hand that held Snape's arm, back to the Great Hall, feeling as though you are going to be sick.

You are wet. And you can't breathe. You can't think. The butterflies are still in your chest, and right now, you can't look at Ron.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Sorry this has taken so long. I must warn you looooong pauses between chapters may be the norm from now on; I'm going back to uni. However I'm on chapter fifteen now, so updates should be better for a little bit.

Another quick note: if this story needs to be moved to another site because of the M content, I will do so on my account at adult fan fiction dot net or granger enchanted (same name, cbot). Check my profile for updates if interested :) Thanks for your patience everyone.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, but the work of the wonderful JKR.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

You haven't missed much of the memorial service. You sit back down in your seat, Ron beside you, your hand in his. Harry gives you a puzzled look. He leans in close to you. "Is Snape coming back?" he whispers.

Your heart pounds at the sound of that name, at the realization that Harry knew why you left. You shake your head.

Harry sighs. "I thought not." He turns back to Ginny then, holding her small hands in his, turning his attention back to McGonagall, who is speaking at the podium in front of the Head Table, and you breathe deeply as you realize he believes you weren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

As per Harry's request, none of you are presented with any kind of award, you are not fawned over. You are, in fact, barely mentioned, and you are grateful; the "Golden Trio" has had enough recognition, you have your Order of Merlin, you had a ceremony, this memorial should not be for you. The Minister briefly touches on what the three of you did the year before. He mentions the hardships you encountered, but not for very long. The purpose of the service is to remember, and soon it is time to read out the list of the missing and the dead.

You are dreading hearing Fred's name more so than any others, for no part of you wants to see Ron upset. You love Ron, and you love Ron's family, and their loss is your loss.

But do you act like it?

Suddenly the vice-like grip of guilt squeezes at your chest. You left the service after Snape, when you should have stayed for Ron. What if you had missed the service completely? What if he hadn't come after you and had been there alone when his brother's name was read out? You are ashamed of yourself, humiliated that you hadn't even thought of it when you rushed out of the Hall earlier. You weren't thinking of Ron, you were thinking of Snape.

He made you wet.

You feel hot and cold at the same time and push the thought out of your head.

The torches in the Great Hall dim and the names are enumerated magically in McGonagall's voice. As they are recited, threads of light from the Headmistress's wand weave portraits of the victims above her head, rivaling the beauty of the enchanted ceiling, illuminating the darkness of the Great Hall. Your eyes fill with tears as you see the smiling faces of children, their parents, babies, even. You wonder how many of them were Muggleborns, like you. How many of them have living relatives. How many of those relatives are there, missing them.

Briefly, the thought that your parents would never have missed you if you died, and that they don't miss you now, crosses your mind. But McGonagall's voice breaks you out of your thoughts as "James and Lily Potter" are read out, and their young faces appear above you, smiling and laughing, heads together.

They are gone in a moment, but you instinctively reach your right hand to Harry's left, and you squeeze it. Looking down you realize you, Ron, Harry, and Ginny, are all holding hands, in a line. You think of the night in Godric's Hollow when you and Harry visited his parents' graves. It was just the two of you then... it wasn't right without Ron, or Ginny.

There was so much you didn't know then...

The beautiful smiling face of Lily Potter stays behind your eyes.

Her perfect, smooth red hair.

Her beautiful, flawless smile.

It is not long until you hear McGonagall's voice recite Fred's name. You slip your hand from Harry's and put it on Ron's knee. You put your other arm around him, pulling him close to you, tucking your head below his. It is the only way you can hold him in the chairs, in a public place. He kisses the top of your head and you nuzzle your face into his neck.

"I love you Hermione," he whispers to you, as more names are read out. His voice sounds shaky.

Guilt presses against your heart. "I love you too," you whisper back. And you do, you really do.

But you still see the smiling face of Lily Potter, you still feel Severus Snape's arm. You can barely think. You feel as if you are falling. And the only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you safe, reminding you of who you are, who you always have been, is Ron holding you.

* * *

You are grateful when the memorial service is finally over. After the Minister makes his speech, the younger students are lead out of the Hall by their House heads, the extra chairs and tables are vanished, and McGonagall announces the ball is to begin. The atmosphere of the room begins to lighten after she says a few encouraging, life-affirming words, but your heart stays troubled.

The rest of the night is a blur of wine and being barraged by countless Ministry executives. They ask about school, about Harry, inquiring on your post-graduation plans. Everyone is smiling, having a wonderful time. And you are too, to an extent. You put on a good show (at least you hope you do), laughing at stuffy bureaucratic jokes, drinking, mingling. But every time there is a lull in a conversation, every time you have a moment to yourself, your thoughts return to that troublesome place, and you hear them in your head, almost like a voice, almost as if they are not your own.

_You touched Snape. He made you wet._

As the night progresses, the dancing begins. You dance with Harry, you dance with the Minister, and of course, you dance with Ron. He has had a fair amount of Firewhisky, and you have had a fair amount of wine. He holds you close, even during the fast songs. After a while you don't notice or care what the songs' tempos are. You hold him as tight as you can, breathe into his ear to make him shudder, smile against his sensitive flesh. And you forget. As long as he keeps holding you, you can forget.

* * *

It's not long before the night starts to wrap up. Feeling dizzy and light-headed, you and Ron leave your friends in the Great Hall and walk in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room. Before you reach the sixth floor, he pulls you around a corner and twirls you so your back hits the wall. You exhale in surprise as he presses himself against you gently. He looks into your eyes. You look around nervously.

"Ron..." you whisper, "not here."

"Please, Hermione," he says, and kisses you. His lips are warm and he tastes faintly of Firewhiskey, which isn't unpleasant, and you find your body wanting to respond to his, but you can't.

"Not here," you say against his lips. You are not far gone enough to shed your inhibitions. "Someone might see," you explain.

"No one will see. I just want to kiss you."

You know that isn't true. You can feel it against your hip.

The voice in the back of your mind tells you this is wrong. Your knickers are still wet from earlier, from someone else. But Ron is kissing you, stroking your face with the back of his fingers, so lightly. You shiver. You can't say no. No matter how wrong, you can't say no tonight. Not after the memorial. Not after what you did. Ron needs you, and you need him. You need to forget. You push the voice away

But no matter what, you can't do this in the hall. "Do you have your own room, or are you sharing with Harry?" you ask.

Ron smiles against your lips. "After McGonagall left we separated the room in two. We'll be alone."

"All right," you say. "Let's go."

Once you are in his room, alone for the first time in months, you do your best to not let him go. You fumble with his clothes, hungry for his skin on yours, rip your own dress over your head, barely removing your lips from him. You insert your leg between his and he is falling onto the four-poster bed, and you are following. He laughs quietly and you kiss his neck, turning his chuckle into a blissful exhale.

And then he moves, so you are at the top of the bed, and he is on top of you, and he pulls your knickers off, and, finding you wet, moans and slips inside you. You inhale sharply and he starts moving. You shut your eyes tight, concentrating on the feeling of his arms holding you and of him, filling you.

Like a lightning bolt, a sudden flash in the back of your mind, you see black eyes.

Your eyes fly open, but they are still there. Black eyes, sallow skin, sharp cheekbones. You glance at Ron, but he is in his own world, speeding up his thrusting, his eyes closed. You can't help but notice you are very, very wet; you can feel and hear it. You shut your eyes tight, but nothing chases those black eyes away, stops your treacherous thoughts, silences that voice.

_Did his breathing speed up when you touched him through his robes?_

You moan involuntarily. It makes Ron moan. You block the sound out.

_Was there a slight hitch in his breath when your fingers made contact?_

You moan again, feeling an uncoiling in your belly, your blood rushing downwards.

_Did you make Severus Snape feel something?_

You can't stop now. You concentrate on the cold, dark eyes glowering at you inside your head. Did his heartbeat speed up like yours? Did he want you to keep touching him?

Your face gets hot, starts tingling; whatever is happening is doing something to you. It's taking over your head, your body, your mind...

You imagine him grabbing the arm that you touched him with, pushing you against the wall like Ron had, except it is not Ron, it is Snape. Snape pushing you against the wall, not gently, pressing his body against yours so you can barely breathe. You imagine his frame, although thin, covering every inch of you. He lowers his head, brings his face to yours, and he kisses you as you feel a flood of liquid fill your knickers.

The kiss is slow at first as he explores your mouth with his. His lips are soft, malleable. But then he deepens it, kisses you like he is possessing you, like he wants you, needs you. And then you feel it; a hardness against your abdomen.

You did that. You made Snape hard.

You are crying out, moaning, and you don't want the body on top of you to stop; your body is so very hot, your lips are tingling, your limbs are buzzing. He can't stop, cannot stop, because you are so close to something, so close...

But right then, with a final cry, he's finished. He hovers over you for a moment, shuddering, kissing you passionately, but it's not the lips you were thinking of. And as Ron pulls out of you, rolls over, curls up next to you, catching his breath, you realize what's happened.

You are still so, so hot. Unsatisfied. And the black eyes don't leave your head.

Suddenly you feel ill. You rush to the loo and are sick in the toilet.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: I've not abandoned this story, I'm just back in school and it's very intense. Now on winter break. I'm not overly happy with this chapter (it's sort of filler) so I apologize. The next chapter is almost done. Chapter sixteen should be when we get to the good stuff. I'm so sorry for my continuing absence on this site, but your reviews and follows and favourites mean the world to me. Thanks so much everyone!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Despite the wine, your sleep is shallow and restless. When you wake for good, it's half past five, and you are exhausted. Ron is snoring beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist. You know he won't wake for hours, when his stomach rouses him. The night floods back to you all at once and you press your fingers against your temples in an effort to keep the memories, and your headache, at bay.

You decide you should use the time to finish the reading for next month's Charms test. You slip out of Ron's grip and the bed slowly, careful not to wake him, and find your dress on the floor. You transfigure it into dark robes, your heels into trainers and, as quietly as you can, leave the room.

You try to recall if there are any professors patrolling at this hour, and can't remember conclusively. You decide there probably aren't; more than likely, any professor out of bed would be awake for the day. To be safe, you cast a Silencing charm on yourself and wards on the guest room door.

The castle is cold and dark, with only dull sconces lighting the hallway. The sun won't rise for a few hours, and as you walk through the hall, a moon, just shy of full, looks back at you through a large window. Although the Fat Lady is put off at having to wake up to accommodate your entrance to the Common Room, you are able to retrieve your Charms book (and a much-needed headache potion and toothbrush) without incident.

But on your way back to Ron, only steps past the Fat Lady, you hear it. Footsteps.

Instantly you duck into a shadow and Disillusion yourself, feeling that familiar, cold feeling run down your body. The footsteps get closer and you pray your charms will hold (although you know they will; you had enough casting-charms-under-duress practice in the Forest of Dean), and curse yourself for not thinking to nick Harry's cloak. You stay as still as you can, hidden in the dark, and listen.

The steps are slow, measured, relatively soft, although they seem loud in the quiet of the Castle. Whoever they belong to is either dumb as a stump (a student? No, no student would walk so boldly out of bed at these hours), unable to cast a Silencing charm (Filch? No, he's always talking to Mrs. Norris), or is unaware there is a student out of bed (the most likely answer). Any of those options are alright with you; all work in your favour.

"I know you're there, Miss Granger. Twenty point from Gryffindor for being out of bed at this hour."

Your heart sinks into your feet. Of course it's him. And he is neither dumb, a Squib, or unaware. He is confident.

Snape Finites your charms and rounds the corner, staring down at you over his nose. You are trembling slightly, and you pray it isn't visible. He is the last person you want to see after your behaviour the night before. You are embarrassed, for many reasons, but your drunken fantasy doesn't play into that as much as you would have thought. It was the wine. It had to be. The whole night seems a blur, in a way. Even the part before you had started drinking. Almost a dream.

Snape crosses his arms. "What are you doing out of bed, Miss Granger?"

You take a deep breath. Best to start with a half truth. "I wasn't feeling well, Sir."

He raises an eyebrow. "And that caused you to leave your dormitory... why?"

You don't want to lie (Snape is far too insightful), but you can't tell him you spent the night elsewhere. So you shrug, and keep your mouth closed, hoping he will berate you before you have to think up an answer.

He stares at you for a few moments. You know what you look like, especially compared to how you looked the night before. Your hair is a fluffy halo, you have bags under your eyes. You're wearing a poorly transfigured robe that barely reaches your ankles and trainers without socks. You begin to flush under his gaze and you look down at the ground, praying he will say something and put you out of your awkward, embarrassed misery.

And then he sighs.

It's a strange sound. You've never heard Snape sigh before. It's not a timid sound; it sounds almost as if he is exasperated, resigned. Your eyes shoot to his face and are surprised when it seems less cold, somehow.

"Go back to bed, Miss Granger," he says, and his voice sounds raspy and tired. "Just... go."

You are so grateful to not be chewed up and spit out you grin like a fool and can't help the cheerful "thank you Sir!" that comes out of your mouth. You are about to head to the Fat Lady, assuming Snape will follow to ensure you return to your dorm, but he abruptly turns on his heel and walks the other way, moving quicker than he was before, disappearing down the stairs.

After a few minutes, his footsteps fade away completely and you run back to Ron's room, your heart pounding, your head wondering what made Snape sound so tired, so resigned.

* * *

You wake with a start to the sound of Ron moaning. You are back in the bed in the guest room, your face plastered against your Charms textbook, your neck aching. You must have fallen asleep reading. You check the clock. It's 9:30. Ron is beside you, cursing Firewhiskey, Hogwarts, the Ministry, and various other institutions and liquors.

"Merlin's left nut, I feel like shite," he grumbles. "Hermione? Hermione... are you awake?"

You peel your cheek off the book, hoping none of the text transferred onto your face. "I am now."

"Can you grab the hangover potion in my bag?"

You get up slowly. You feel all right, really, except for your neck. You find Ron's bag and hand him a vial of the potion. He drinks it laying down, his arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight.

While he waits for it to kick in, you use the loo and take a quick shower. By the time you are finished, Ron is dressed. He knocks on a door across from the bed and yells "Oi! Harry! You ready for breakfast?" After some shouting, Harry and Ginny enter the room, looking freshly showered and only slightly worse for wear. Making sure the coast is clear, the four of you leave the room and walk to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The second you enter, it goes quiet. Everyone is staring at Ron and Harry with open mouths (except the Slytherins, you notice with amusement). You look at the Head Table and just happen to catch Snape, and the Headmistress, to his left, both rolling their eyes. You suppress your smile.

As your boyfriend and friend are mobbed, you and Ginny take a seat at the Gryffindor table and begin to eat.

"I don't know how they can handle that," Ginny mutters. "Especially after all they drank last night."

"Hangover potion, I'm sure," you say, as you nibble a piece of toast.

"That only gets rid of the hangover. Not the inane questions."

You smile. "Oh come, it's harmless. They're only first years."

Ginny raises her eyebrows and looks pointedly at the crowd. "Are they?"

You follow her eyes and realize you're wrong. It's not only first years talking to your boyfriend. It's also older students. Older female students.

"Ah, I see," you say quietly. You feel an acute stab of jealousy as you watch Ron laughing with a group of very pretty sixth years.

"Harry tells me it's worse at the Ministry. They've hired a lot of young graduates to help with the influx of paperwork since the war, and most of them are female. So you can imagine the attention they get from their 'groupies,'" Ginny rolls her eyes. "Harry even got a marriage proposal once!" she laughs and turns her attention back to her breakfast.

You smile at your friend but you are slightly concerned. Ron never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters to you... although now that you think of it, he mentioned very little about anything in his letters. It was all small talk; all light-hearted, all frivolous now that you think about it.

Harry and Ron finally break away from the crowd when the Headmistress shoos the other students away, telling them to leave the boys alone or they will be escorted from the Hall. "Sorry about that," Harry says sheepishly as they both sit down. He seems uncomfortable and embarrassed. Ginny smiles at him warmly and pats him on the back consolingly.

Ron, on the other hand, is beaming. "Right annoying," he says, but you can tell he doesn't mean it. Suddenly you feel like you did in your sixth year, when Ron was the Quidditch hero, and, basking in his victory, snogged Lavender Brown as if his life depended on it. Right in front of you.

* * *

After breakfast, Ron asks you to go for a walk with him by the lake. They are leaving before lunch and have tea scheduled with the Headmistress before they go, so you have less than an hour left with him.

You walk through the chilly autumn air and find a large rock to sit on. You cast a warming charm on it and on both of your clothes, and Ron holds your hand as you sit and stare at the lake. It's peaceful; not even the Giant Squid is disturbing the calm waters and still morning.

"So," you say, breaking the companionable silence, "Ginny says you and Harry are mobbed quite a bit at work. I guess you can't get away from it, can you?" You keep your tone light and smile, hoping he won't think you're upset.

He shrugs. "Yeah, it happens. Harry gets more of it than I do, really."

You nod, and again you are both quiet for a while. You see a tentacle partially emerge from the lake's murky water before submerging once again, and you watch the ripples it makes.

"When will we see each other again?" Ron asks eventually, changing the topic.

"At Christmas, I suppose. I'll spend half of it here and half at the Burrow, if that's all right."

"Why would you spend half of it here?"

"I need to study. Professor McGonagall has promised me total access to the library while everyone's away, even after hours. I'm hoping to start an extra credit project for Arithmacy in the new year. Professor Sinestra seems interested -"

Ron makes a face and interrupts you. "You're going to study during Christmas holidays?"

You feel a prick of annoyance. "Yes, Ron. I always do. You know that. If I didn't study at the Burrow I studied on holidays with my parents."

He sighs. "Right. It's just... these two days... It's hardly enough, is it?"

You hadn't really thought about it like that. Two days together seemed fine to you, for now. You love being with Ron, but being apart from him for this time, no matter how unpleasant, was part of the plan all along.

"No," you say, "I suppose it's not. But it's just for this year."

He nods. "Right." He pauses. "You know, Harry and Ginny are moving in together. After she graduates, I mean."

You shift on the rock, suddenly uncomfortable. "She said they were thinking about it..."

"No, they're doing it," he interrupts again. "Harry told me she said yes. I'll be looking for a new place in a couple of months, so she can move into Grimmauld. A flat, probably."

You don't know what to say to that. Apparently you don't have to, as Ron isn't finished.

"You'll be graduating after that, and I think you should move in with me."

Your heart sinks and you feel cold, as if your charms are wearing off. You swallow. "But... that's so soon."

He turns to you then, and grabs both your hands in his. "It's not, Hermione. I miss you. I miss sleeping next to you."

You flush, feeling frightened suddenly. "I miss that too, but... I don't know what I'm going to do after I take my N.E.W.T.s," you say. "When it's safe again, after the last Death Eaters go to trial, I have to go to Australia. I have to find my parents. And so much could go wrong, I don't know when I'd be back..." You feel your breath get shallow. You feel dizzy. "No, Ron," you say strongly, surprising yourself. "No, I can't. I can't move in with you. I can't."

His face turns red and he looks furious. "Merlin, Hermione, you don't have to sound so repulsed." He lets go of your hands so quickly you jump. He stands up and begins walking back to the castle.

You run after him. "No, Ron, that's not what I meant at all!" You manage to catch up to him and grab his arm. He turns around but he won't look at you.

"Ron, are you telling me you can't understand that I need to find my parents? That I don't know how they'll react, if the spell can be lifted successfully, when I'll be able to come back..." your voice breaks as you feel tears stinging the back of your eyes.

His face softens at that. "I know," he says. "But I'll be coming with you. And then we'll have somewhere to come back to when we come home."

You don't want to tell him that you don't want him coming to Australia with you. That you can't bear the thought of going yourself, seeing your parents, feeling the guilt, the grief, let alone having someone - anyone! - coming with you and seeing all those intimate moments. It's... private.

But you can't bring yourself to tell him that. Not yet. Your brain tells you he should understand (he's been through as much as you, after all), but the look on his face is too hopeful, and your heart won't allow you to destroy that hope.

"All right," you say. "We'll talk about it, okay? It's a while away. We have time."

He nods and kisses you, gently, on the cheek. "I just want a life with you, Hermione," he says against your skin.

You feel that sinking in your chest again. "I know, Ron," you say, and kiss him back. A chaste kiss, like the day before.

After a moment he sighs. "I have to go."

You nod. "I'll walk you to the Headmistress' office."

You walk in silence the whole way. When you reach the stone gargoyles, Ron takes your hands in his again.

"This is it," he says, smiling shyly. "The House Elves, of their own free will, will be bringing our stuff here so we can leave right away." You chuckle at his joke. "I'll see you at Christmas then," he says, leaning over and kissing you, on the mouth this time, softly.

"At Christmas," you echo. You hug him, hard, before he says the password and disappears from view.


End file.
